


The Nemeton’s Shade

by Pdxtrent, snowqueenlou



Series: Time’s Threshold [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A Burn so Slow you Wonder if it’s a Burn at All, Canon Compliant, Deputy Noah Stilinski, F/M, Fix-It, Glacial Burn, I Don't Even Know, I regret everything or nothing, M/M, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 06 Finale, Rocks Fall Everyone Dies, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, The Hale Family (Teen Wolf) Lives, Time Travel Fix-It, What if Derek was the 16 high school kid and Stiles the emotionally damaged older guy?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 05:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20670029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pdxtrent/pseuds/Pdxtrent, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowqueenlou/pseuds/snowqueenlou
Summary: Post series finale, dark magic kills the pack off one by one until only Stiles and Scott remain. In a desperate bid to save the his father, friends, and pack Stiles comes up with a plan to travel into the past and change the course of the events he knows. But things aren’t as simple as they seem, and not everything goes according to plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pdxtrent says:  
First, this owes an enormous debt to Metisket’s ‘Play it again’ which sets the bar for me as far as time/universe travel rewrite fixes go. But it owes almost as much to ‘Hold onto me because I’m a little unsteady’ by Starcanopus because of questions that fic posed for me.  
I really just intended to make a couple of notes for myself to follow up on later, but then 5 hours passed and I had over 3000 words of chapter one written. I threw it into my google docs and shared it to my usual beta reader Snowqueenlou and called it ‘I don’t even know what the fuck this is’ before going to sleep. The next day she and I grabbed coffee and talked about it. And the story kept growing and growing. I originally envisioned a 15k word fic that ends in the first couple of days. That idea exploded. A lot. I blame her for everything, and you should blame her too. I just wanted to write chapter 11 of ‘The call of the night’.
> 
> (At the prompting of Isthatbloodonhisshirt, I have updated the tags to include those for ‘glacial burn’ and ‘a burn so slow you wonder if it’s a burn at all’ which she used to perfect effect on ‘Actions Speak Louder than Words’, and which do manage to convey the 300,000 words you’ll be waiting for anything close to flirting.)

Day One:

Stiles finished the second letter and put down the pen, glancing back over the stack of pages he’d filled since 10 am. Deaton hadn’t been sure how it all worked. How long before he faded away here. The records they’d been able to find were... unhelpful. He hoped the end wasn’t painful. He hoped this last death would be easier than all the ones before it, he didn’t really deserve it, but none of them had gotten what they deserved either, so fuck it.

He snorted. Seriously though, when had any of this been pain-free? After they finished high school, after he’d dropped out of the FBI seminar, after Monroe was finally dealt with, they thought it was done. Kate was dead, Gerard was dead. What was left? 

Of course it wasn’t over. One by one the pack started to die. The newest members of the pack died first, starting with Cory. They thought it was just a tragic accident. Then a month later, Mason died. Month after month, another death, the timing not predictable but still consistent. When there was what appeared to be a silent month of nothing, they all were on high alert, and everyone was on edge. It was two more weeks before they found out about Cora.

One by one the pack died until finally it was just Derek and Scott and Stiles left. The three of them alone, as it had been in the beginning. 

The thing came for them, roaring past the mountain ash, past the line of etched silver, a cloud of darkness and fire, enveloping Derek who in his last moment turned to look at Stiles in a way he never had quite managed in life. He gasped out “It’s Gerard,” before he fell to the ground as dead as the rest, then the cloud was gone like it had never been.

That was the key Deaton and Stiles had needed. They searched through old books, finally pulling out the thick lore books from the Hale Vault. When they finally found the spell, they learned it was ancient. A spell for revenge, it was triggered by Gerard’s death, and unstoppable.

But Stiles had read deep into Deaton’s library over the years, and had learned that all spells had cracks, spaces where they would fail if caught in the right way.

After the nogitsune, his spark powers had never worked predictably. He couldn’t perform most of the spells, but he could still understand them, and he could guess at ways spells could be manipulated and made to serve the pack. Among the books from the Hale Vault he found a solution. A solution that was as dark and ugly as the spell that hunted them. A spell of pain and sacrifice born in blood, but it was a chance. And more, it could be a chance to fix everything, but with a cost that was so staggering that even Stiles initially rejected it. But the cost you can reject in normal times was nothing when you knew you only had a few weeks left anyway. At first Scott insisted there had to be another way, but the rare united front of Stiles and Deaton had finally brought him around. 

In the end, in the truest manifestation of Scott’s idealism, once he committed, he never hesitated. He’d argued, that deep seated belief that confidence alone could assure success, but once convinced, he was as steadfast in his death as he had been in his life, the True Alpha bleeding out his life for even the desperate hope of a future for his Pack.

  


Now Stiles found himself here, trapped and alone in the past. On this end, he had only until the timeline started to change. Once it was flung onto a new path he would die. Or maybe he would just fade away. The spell didn't say exactly, and the few references had been conflicting. Probably it would be lingering and painful, that’s how these things went for him. But it would buy a better life for all of them. Even himself. Even if the him that was left behind would never know the terrible cost that had been paid.

His first thought was to go back far enough to see his mom one last time. But he knew that was months too far, and it was a purely selfish wish. There was nothing that could be done to save her since the disease was built in from birth. Just by living, he’d eventually affect the timeline too much if he went that far back. Killing Gerard when he was a child was out because Stiles couldn’t go back before his own birth. 

So he and Deaton had studied Gerard’s timeline. Spent a week arguing different possibilities over the 19 years. Finally, they’d picked this day, planning everything with care. He’d brought a few hundred dollars of year appropriate cash and a fake license, just in case. In his backpack was a letter from Deaton for Deaton. He wasn’t sure what it said, but the Druid said it would convince the past him that it was all real if necessary. 

He glanced at the clock and nodded to himself. It was time to go. He stashed the letter he’d written to Derek in his bag, and shoved the concise but detailed pack history he’d spent most of the day writing in his hoodie pocket. As he walked out of the library he gazed across the town stretching downhill toward the river. He wanted to run to the sheriff’s office and see his dad one last time. He wanted to run to the high school and see Derek. He wanted to go to the grade school and see little Scott. He did none of those, he would do nothing that might nudge the timeline. Not yet. The time for his impulsive stupidity was long past. He crossed Rancho Lobo street and slipped into the Preserve. 

He made his way through the trees, wandered back and forth constantly, heading in the right general direction until he emerged not far from the Hale House. He didn’t really remember it from before the fire, though he remembered the night of the fire itself. 

What he saw when he came out of the trees was the Hale House the afternoon before Kate Argent set it on fire. It was a bit of a gamble, because there was no certain evidence that Kate hadn’t been the only Argent that night. No proof Gerard, crazy old fuck that he had been, had been there working hand in hand with her. But they’d been able to confirm he was in town that day, and Deaton and Scott had agreed with him that it was the best chance. Because even if Gerard already had the vengeance spell in place, if they stopped him at the right moment, the spell would fail. Every magic had a weakness after all. You can’t demand vengeance in the moment you’re attacking your victim.

He stopped and stared at the house, feeling a wave of- he wasn’t sure what. Could you feel nostalgia for something that was lost before it meant anything to you? 

“Can I help you? Are you lost? This is private property,” a voice said to his left. He looked up at a Peter Hale he’d never seen. Younger. Still that same calculating too smart face, but not the monster he’d become, the only Peter he’d ever really known.

He opened his mouth, “I need-“ He paused, “I need to talk to Talia Hale,” he said finally. “Is she here?” 

Peter came closer, and Stiles, long familiar with werewolves, caught his subtle sniffing of Stiles’ scent, no doubt smelling an unknown alpha on him, and the slight electric tang of his spark.

“She is at home, yes. And who should I tell her is wandering in from the woods?” 

“I’m-” and Stiles heart broke a little as he said it for what was almost certainly the last time, “I’m Stiles Stilinski of the McCall Pack.” 

Peter looked at him closer, “I don’t know of a McCall Pack.” 

“Please?” Stiles said. Making a quick gamble, he tipped his chin back, baring his neck in respect, “I only have one chance to get this right. Please Peter.” 

Peter’s expression froze and he stepped back. For a moment his eyes narrowed and then they widened as some bolt of thought went through his head. Stiles almost snorted. Of course Peter would know about this spell. It was in the same book as the spell Peter had used to bring himself back from the dead in that future that would hopefully never be. He wondered what it was that had sent Peter’s mind there.

“Come with me,” Peter said, reaching out and putting a hand gently on Stiles shoulder. They walked across the wide lawn and the thousand little things that said this was a home instead of a tomb jumped out at Stiles. The tire swing. The flower beds. Stiles paused to touch the rail of the steps leading up to the front porch, and the windows full of glass.

The door opened and a woman, an Alpha that Stiles had only ever only known from a few photos and stories, stepped outside. 

“Alpha Hale,” Stiles whispered, and a couple of tears leaked down his face. He reached up and wiped them away. “I don’t know how long I have. I’m pretty sure Peter understands-“ he glanced over at the man who nodded. “Tonight Kate Argent, plus some hire goons, are going to burn your house down with your pack inside. I suspect Gerard Argent will be with her. They’ll use mountain ash to trap you inside, and I know Deaton is out of town. It’s a false trail, by the way. Deucalion isn’t going to come out of hiding until after you die. It’s all here-“ he handed her the thick packet of his pack’s history. Pages and pages of everything that will go wrong from the fire to the Dread Doctors to the nightmare final months. All those desperate choices and so many bad decisions.

Peter drew in a breath and reached for the pages, which Talia passed to him. She reached out to Stiles, touching his other shoulder. “And who are you Stiles Stilinski of no pack that either I or my brother has heard of, that you know all this?” 

Stiles had prepared for this, rehearsed his words. “I’m from a future that I hope to god you can prevent,” he said. “Because you’ll all die, well, no. Not Peter and Derek and Laura. And Cora. But then Laura dies in a few years, then Peter and finally-“ He pauses to wipe away more tears, “and finally Derek and Cora. Scott’s gone. My dad. Lydia. Everyone I love. So I picked this time. Today. This is a place I think it can all be stopped.” 

He looked at her in the eyes, “But I can’t do it. Once the timeline starts to change, I’ll be gone, dead or vanished or something. But the letter is from here, and Deaton says his letter will survive, even if everything else I brought doesn’t.” He pulled a photo out of his pocket. The pack, his pack, from the year before. Derek standing a step away as he always did, and everyone else all crammed together into the photo. His dad had taken it. He glanced at it and handed it over to her and watched as she stared down at it, her finger tracing across Derek's face. 

“How long do we have?” she asked after a long silence.

“Six hours I think. The fire started around 815.” 

“Then come in and have some tea while I make a few calls,” she said quietly. “I don’t know-“ she turned to Peter who was still reading through the letter intently. Then looked back at Stiles, “I don’t understand how the magic works. Will making the calls trigger it?” 

“No one knows. You can guess it’s not a popular spell since it costs a life just to cast it, and results in your death once you start changing things. But hey, keep notes! For science. Well magic. Tell Deaton at least.” 

She snorted in a way that made him think of Derek. “I imagine it’s not popular.” Then she said quietly, “Are you Deputy Stilinski’s son? It’s not a common name.” 

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m-” he points toward the city through the trees, “This me, your version of me, is at the elementary school where Cora goes, a year behind her. You should probably warn Deaton I’m a spark or I’ll probably be driving him crazy trying to track me down in a few years when that matures.” 

“Did you have feelings for Derek?” she asked. “I’m just guessing but for you to come here, to this day, that seems like it’s something you’ve done for him.” 

He stilled, looking away. “We weren’t-“ he shrugged, “you know. I mean, once you’ve read you’ll understand better, but after Kate and Jennifer and there was a nogitsune in there, then Kate again, so there wasn’t really room for an ‘us.’ But yeah, there were other places, other times I could have stopped everything. But I do think this was the best chance as well. I’m sorry I didn’t go back to before Paige, but there was a spell on Gerard in my time and it has to be stopped in a certain way. And he can’t use the vengeance spell here, not tonight. Derek is the victim right now. It’s the flaw in that spell. My Derek-“ Stiles wiped away his tears, “he’d make this sacrifice. I know he would. But your Derek will be different. Just, let him know I tried. I couldn’t find a better way. Ask him to try to forgive me okay?” 

She nodded as Peter looked up from the last page of the letter. Tears hung heavy in his eyes too. “Is that everything?” 

“Everything I know. Every damn monster waiting in the wings. Every disaster. Every mistake we made. Maybe this time none of it will happen.” 

Peter stepped closer and handed the letter to Talia. “Can we talk for a moment while she reads that?” he said, looking carefully at Stiles. 

Stiles nodded and Peter led him down the hall to the kitchen. They passed a wall full of photos. A laughing picture of an absurdly young Derek and Laura. Group shots of a family where he only recognized some of the faces. Peter paused and grabbed a couple of cokes and some cookies as they went through the kitchen and sat at the table. 

“I gather from reading that I owe you an apology,” he said after a moment. “Fuck, reading that, I think I owe you a lifetime of them. It was like reading a nightmare version of my future.” 

Stiles shrugged. “I mean, my lifetime’s pretty short at this point so we’ve got that covered. And it won’t be like that now. You’ll be someone else. Someone better. Your pack won’t die. You won’t get left behind.” He looked at Peter, “and it took me years to realize you were a victim in all of that too. I blamed you so long for all that shit. But the fire? Everything that happened afterward? That all happened to you, not just him. I forgave you a long time ago. I think Derek finally did too.” 

“I hope your version of me valued that.” 

Stiles snorted. “It’s always hard to tell with you. You’re not-“ He paused, shaking his head, “he wasn’t always a villain. That’s too simple for him. He’s saved my life as often as he threatened it. He was never easy to categorize, but I’ve seen what was probably the worst version of who you can be, and even in your deepest madness and pain you took revenge for your family and still gave me a choice about the bite and helped save me from the Wild Hunt.” 

Stiles looked out the window. “You know he never gave me a straight answer about that. Scott he just bit. But me? He asked me if I wanted it. He always just answered with these evasions.” 

Peter was quiet for a moment then said, “If you’d taken the bite voluntarily you’d have been his to call. Your friend Scott, the unwilling bite, he could fight the call. You would have been bonded. And if he’d had betas, he would probably have been unstoppable.” 

Stiles sat with that idea for a moment before saying, “I think it was more than that, I think he wanted me to choose him. He wanted someone to choose him, to see him as worthy.” 

Peter glanced away, “You might be right. I might be judging him overly harshly.” 

Stiles reached out a hand and slid it into Peter’s. “I know you’re not him. I wrote all of that down so it won’t be forgotten when I go. But don’t take on his mistakes as yours okay?” 

Peter nodded. “I’d ask how you got so wise, but I’ve read what you wrote.” Peter smiled at Stiles, then asked, “Out of academic curiosity, do you have a guess when you’ll go?” 

Stiles shrugged. “Honestly I thought as soon as I started talking, it’s why I wrote everything out. I thought that would be enough. Now? I’m not sure anymore. Maybe tonight when the first person doesn’t die? I don’t know. Deaton was typically cryptic. ‘When the timeline shifts’ was what he said. Like seriously, I wish that dude would just say ‘I don’t know’ like a normal person, just once.”

Peter laughed. “He’s an odd sort of emissary, but he and Talia get along well. Not many potential emissaries feel up to a territory with a nemeton, even a dormant one.” 

“He’s helped. Sometimes. He’s awfully fond of waiting til the last minute to be useful though.” 

“Was he training you to be emissary after him?” Peter asked. “You have a spark, though it’s a strange one.” 

“No,” Stiles said. “After the nogitsune, my spark-“ he shrugged, “it was never really right again. Some things were still okay. Like I could still manipulate mountain ash. But most spells didn’t work very well. The more complex, the more it would go wrong, or if I was lucky, just not work.” 

Peter eyed him for a moment. “But Deaton was sure the nogitsune was gone?” 

Stiles shrugged, “Honestly he couldn’t say, it was Noshiko who said I was clear.” He paused, “well, actually she said I was more me than the nogitsune, which I think was just kitsune-speak for ‘you’re gonna have a lifetime of nightmares and guilt but it’s gone’. After it was finally trapped I started to understand what she meant, because it left behind its memories. Not all of them, not all the time. But I remember things, even things from after we were separated.” 

“Like Allison’s death,” Peter said quietly.

“Yeah. It happens in dreams. But not just memories like that. I know Japanese now though I’ve never learned it. Russian too, and I’m not sure if there are others. Sometimes I don’t know what’s just normal nightmares, or its memories.” 

“I’ll make sure we take care of it. It’s not going to infect someone this time.” 

Stiles looked at him, “Thank you. I’m kind of glad I got this. I mean, dying will suck, but meeting this you. Meeting Derek’s mom. Saving everyone. It’s not a bad way to go. I feel like it has meaning, not just another death without meaning. I wonder what this me will be like without the pack?” 

“I look forward to seeing myself,” Peter said with a smile. “My pack owes you-“ he searched for a word, “everything. I know you, this you, won’t be here, but I imagine the you that you leave behind won’t be unaffected by it.” 

Stiles tilted his head. “If-“ He shook his head. “Never mind.” 

“What?” 

“I was going to say, if my dad ever finds out about all this stuff, will you tell him about me, this-me I mean, not the me he knows here?” 

Peter nodded. “If that happens I’ll let him read your history, and tell him about the time I got with you. The sheriffs here tend to find out about the supernatural around half the time.”

Stiles grinned. “I think I’m ready for it, you know? Like now it just feels like I’m waiting, and I suck at waiting.” 

“Talia’s making her calls now. She’s calling in the packs that are close enough, that owe us favors. She already called Deaton and he’s headed back here. So I suspect it won’t be long, time must already be changing.” 

Stiles slumped down and closed his eyes. “There’s a letter for Deaton in my bag. One for Derek too. I wish I could have gone back further, saved Paige, kept him from Kate. But I don’t know how long Gerard has been carrying that death spell. I hate that even in this life Derek’s going to be the one who has to suffer.” 

“We all carry weights. Scars on our souls.” Peter replied gently, “I suspect you might have noticed Derek’s more because you cared about him so much.” 

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe. Though by any accounting he’s been pretty badly beaten up by life.” 

“I’ll make sure he gets the letter when he’s ready for it,” Peter assured him. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said simply, sitting back up straight. “Okay, fuck. Find me something to do. I’m going to go crazy just waiting.” 

Talia walked into the kitchen. “I think you’ve done your part Stiles. Now let me do mine. I’ve talked to the two closest packs and they’re headed this way. Everyone knows to come in unseen. To stay back and hold position in case they’re needed.” 

“It’s the critical moment,” Stiles said. “I just hope I’m right and that old bastard just has to help set the fire himself.” 

“Deaton will call the fire department at around 815 when the fire should start. Even if they jam the cell tower and cut the house lines like you guessed, the fire and police should get here in plenty of time, and the packs won’t be needed.” 

“How am I still here?” Stiles said, puzzled. “Like, this has got to be a shift in the timeline right?” 

“Maybe it’s the first death like you thought?” Peter said.

“But the change is inevitable now,” Stiles replied. “I’ve already rewritten time.” He looked at the letter in Talia’s hand. “Wait. Can we take that somewhere? Deaton’s maybe? Someplace it won’t be in the house in case none of this works?” 

Talia smiled. “We could, but I’ve already scanned and emailed a copy to him and an alpha I know in New York. Whatever happens, we’ll stop all of this.” She held up the letter. 

Stiles drummed his fingers against the table. “So now we just wait? Oh god. This is how I’ll die. The anxiety and impatience is going to kill me.” 

Talia smiled. “Do you want to go somewhere? Maybe see your father? I know you can’t tell him who you are, but it might make you feel calmer.” 

“Actually I want to stop by the cemetery and say goodbye to my mom first.” 

Talia set a hand on his shoulder. “In case it happens and I don’t see you again, thank you, for everything. For our lives, for being Derek and Cora’s friend, for all you did in our absence.”

Stiles nodded. “You’re welcome I guess. We clearly did a shit job though. Since this was how it ended up.” 

“Do you want a ride into town?” Peter asked. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, “that would be great.” 

“Let me grab my keys,” the older man replied. 

“Hopefully I’m still here,” Stiles said with an impish grin. Peter rolled his eyes on his way out the door. 

“Deaton was surprised when I talked to him,” Talia said. “Once I told him what was going on, he agreed with you, that the time stream should already have shifted once I started making calls.” 

Stiles smiled widely. “Oh god that’s fantastic. You know, it’s terrible, but it’s worth the inevitable death just knowing I got to prove Deaton wrong for once.” 

“I like Deaton,” Talia said mildly, “it’s not easy being an emissary in the shadow of even a dormant nemeton. It’s why your Peter could bring himself back from the dead. It’s probably why you were able to make it back here. Reality is slightly malleable here, more so since it was active in your time. A nemeton bridges the gap between physical reality and the magical.” 

Stiles paused, looking thoughtful. “It’s why the Dread Doctors came here isn’t it? That added wild magic to bring the Beast to life.” 

“Probably. There are fewer and fewer of these places left. Place that allow the mundane and the otherworldly to touch.” 

“That explains a lot,” Stiles replied. “Like why all the crazy shit happened. Deaton told us the stupid tree would act like a beacon to the supernatural, but I didn’t really understand it.” 

“We do spend a lot of time keeping people away from the nemeton who just want to use it. But it’s worth it, to live here.” 

“Thanks, by the way, for not thinking I was just some delusional person when I got here.” Stiles added. 

“Well, I heard what you said to Peter, and I can smell Deaton and your alpha on you. Plus, there was just a bit of what seemed to be my Derek but older. So it all backed what you said.” 

“Plus the no lying thing?” Stiles said with a smile. 

“That just acted as confirmation.” She said as Peter walked back into the room. 

Stiles stood up and she followed. “May I?” she asked opening her arms. Stiles nodded and leaned in. 

Talia’s hug was different than Stiles expected. He thought it would be a stranger’s hug, over quickly. But it wasn’t. She pulled him in close, and held him. 

“I know it’s trite to say,” she said as she finally let go, “but we’ll never forget you.” 

Stiles nodded, unexpectedly touched. “If I’m still around I’ll be back by 730 to help out.” 

Peter handed him a small cheap black flip phone. Stiles glanced at him. “It’s an extra we keep around, so it won’t matter if it gets lost. I put mine and Talia’s numbers in it, just in case you need to get ahold of us.” 

“Thank you.” Stiles said. “I mean, I don’t really have anyone else to call here. Can we stop somewhere and get some flowers?” 

“Of course,” Peter replied. They pulled onto the long driveway and headed towards Beacon Hills. 

On the road into town, they passed a white cargo van emblazoned with a roofing company logo. Stiles looked at Peter, “Them you think?”

Peter shrugged. “Could be. Talia has Robert and Samuel out on patrol right now. Text her and give her a heads up about it. She’ll let them know.” 

Stiles did, then looked back up, trying to relax into the seat. “You both seem-“ he looked for a word, “calm I guess.” 

Peter nodded. “We have warning. We even have a time table. This is the ideal situation. We know where, we know when. Panicking won’t do anything except let them know we’re warned.” 

Stiles nodded. “I get it. It felt like we were always just reacting to things.” 

“I do wonder who their magic user is though,” Peter mused. “I’m guessing some half taught hedge witch or something similar, but that part makes me nervous.” 

“I never found out. Derek didn’t know, and as much as I wanted one I never got a chance to tie Kate up and cut the answers out of her. If I’d known this was where I’d end up I’d have made it a priority.” 

“Well, hindsight and all of that,” Peter replied. 

“No kidding,” Stiles said dryly, “all those times Derek just wanted to kill someone and we didn’t let him I’m definitely looking back on and rethinking my position!” 

“It’s strange when you talk about your Derek, he seems so different from the Derek I know,” Peter mused. 

Stiles laughed. “Right? I mean, I met your Derek you know, when Kate did her whole de-aged Derek thing. It was so weird, but fun. He was sassy and smug, and it just made me sad, knowing that’s who he could have been without all this. I hope he gets a chance to stay like that, even with Kate.” 

Peter smiled and a moment later pulled up next to the small florist on Pine. A few minutes later Stiles came back out with a bundle of multicolored dahlias and climbed back into the car. The grassy scent of the foliage filled the car as they drove to the cemetery. “What happened to your mother?” Peter asked finally.

“She had early onset frontotemporal dementia. She died a few months ago, I mean here and now a few months ago.” He paused, his mind racing. His Dad’s drinking had been fairly controlled in the first few months after Claudia’s death, but had gotten worse by Christmas and into the new year. He stayed quiet remembering those lonely terrifying months when his father was at his worst as they pulled into the cemetery. Stiles got out and Peter stepped out at the same time. 

When Stiles looked at him Peter shrugged and said, “I’ll be at the family tomb. There’s people I should visit too.” 

Stiles nodded. He’d seen the Hale family tomb in the oldest corner of the cemetery. He wandered toward his mother's grave. 

He stood briefly in the empty spot where Tara Graeme was buried in his own time. A stillness swept over him. He’d thought about the pack coming back, but he hadn’t taken the time to really think about the other losses they’d suffered. Tara, Officer Greentree who always kept the weird sugar free candies on his desk and just winked when Stiles stole them, and Eldon Winters who’d been just a few months from retirement when Matt Daehler had killed him. He thought about Heather and smiled as he trekked onward towards his mother's grave. 

He wondered about this Stiles. He doubted he’d ever meet Derek. Doubted he’d ever fall in- well, not love exactly, but in like with him. He wondered if that attraction between him and Heather would blossom into something with the Darach not in the picture. Or if maybe he’d meet someone in college like his dad had met his mom. He wondered if Scott and Malia would find each other in this timeline too, or if he’d meet Allison in some other way. 

He felt a little untethered as he finally arrived at his mother's grave, and he sat down beside the still growing fresh grass covering her.

“Hey mom,” he said quietly. “So I guess this is weird. Cause like I’m here, but I’m also like over there at the school right now. Like are you all knowing up there? Do you see the weird time travel craziness? Or am I just some guy that looks like your son at 19 to you?” He set the flowers near her headstone, not far from the wilting white roses he knew were from his father. 

“Well, hopefully it all makes sense to you. I hope you can see what happened. Or maybe I don’t. Cause there was so much. Jesus, so much death, so many bad decisions. If my Scott is there, give him a hug and let him know I made it. Let Derek know, Jesus, let him know that I’m going to fix all of this. I hope they’re there. I hope-“ he wiped away a tear. “I hope dad’s there. And Melissa. Tell them I’m so sorry. And hopefully I get to see you all again when it happens.” 

“Is it wrong that I want to watch the Argents die this time? Like, I’ve never gotten to see that, and after everything I do think I deserve at least that. Maybe that’s what I’m still here for, to be a witness. I’d be happy with that. God I’m so fucked up. If I don’t get to see you again, I hope I bought your Mieczyslaw a better future. One where his spark grows on its own with no fucked up chaos demon. Maybe he’ll be the emissary after Deaton someday. Or maybe he’ll decide to not get into the whole shitshow.” He paused, “nah, who am I kidding. He’ll jump in the same way I did.” 

He wiped a couple pieces of dust from her headstone. “I wanted to come back and see you again one last time. But Gerard was off the map for that time, and there was no way to track him down. But he’ll be here, I’m certain. Kate was too impulsive for this plan. This is Gerard’s handiwork, and he loves the personal touch. He’ll be here.” 

He was silent for a few moments then continued, “I keep thinking about time travel and the afterlife now. Like, that’s my life. I mean, I’m here. Your Stiles is here. Like, is my soul in both places? Are they like infinitely flexible? Do we have different souls? But no, I mean, we’re still the same person. I guess this is why I’ll just disappear when the timeline thing happens. That’s weird. No one will remember this me except Talia and Peter. I guess other people might read what I wrote, but they’re the ones who will remember me. I guess that’s okay. I hadn’t really thought that part through. I probably won’t have some melodramatic death scene, no reconnection in the afterlife, I’ll just be here one second then gone. Bonus, I bet that doesn’t hurt though, cause I’ve been wondering about that.” 

He sat for a few more minutes, then sighed. “Well I thought it might be nice if this was where it happened, but no such luck. As a bonus, maybe I’ll get to watch the fuckers die. Sorry about the language. But honestly, you know I’m like that. Serious potty mouth.” He stood up, smiling down at her grave. “I hope this wasn’t too confusing for you and hopefully I’m wrong about the no soul thing, and I can say hi myself soon. I love you always. Both of you.” And he reached out and touched her grave one last time before walking away, toward the oldest corner of the graveyard to meet Peter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snowqueenlou says-  
Although I’ve been an avid reader in various fandoms since the second season of Buffy, I never thought I’d be collaborating on my own story.
> 
> Pdxtrent and I have been brainstorming for a while on his other stories, if you define “brainstorming” as me throwing my brain spaghetti at the wall, and him giving me side-eye. When he sent me this “what the fuck” document, I was not at all surprised to see Time Travel, since he loves it so. What I wasn’t expecting was the potential for aftermath and consequence, which is my particular obsession in fic. 
> 
> The idea of getting to play with a whole different world, the Peter and Derek and Laura who haven’t suffered the same catastrophic losses, but a Stiles who had been through all of it and more, finding himself adrift in a world that knows none of it… yeah, that’s my jam. 
> 
> So that 3k doc somehow morphed into a massive idea over several hours in a coffee shop, and here we are. It’s not my fault.
> 
> Most of the writing is his, the ideas are ours, and most of the punctuation is mine.
> 
> Mind the gap.

He felt calmer after they’d left the cemetery. They went to the little coffee shop across from the sheriff’s office and watched people come and go. He knew his dad was working the night of the fire, but he wasn’t sure if it was a regular shift or overtime. Finally he saw his dad come out and his heart thudded with the impulse to run across the street and hug him. Across the table Peter sipped his hot chocolate and asked, “that’s him?” 

Stiles stared at his dad until the view started to shimmer through his tears. “Yeah. He looks so young.” 

“Well, it sounds like it was a rough ten years,” Peter replied. “When does he become the sheriff?”

Stiles thought for a moment, “Six months? Maybe right? Officially Jacobson is going to retire, but he’s been sleeping with his babysitter and she’s going to get pregnant. Actually she might even be pregnant already I’m not sure how it all comes out. I mean, she’s 18, but he’s married and it’s a whole thing. None of the other deputies really wanted it because the job’s a pain in the ass on the best days. The mayor and the county commissioners deadlock on their first choice for acting sheriff and he’s the compromise choice. He’ll win re-election in two years with like 80% of the vote. He never runs opposed again.” 

“Any hot stock tips?” Peter asked wolfishly.

“Yeah, buy Apple.” Stiles leaned back, closing his eyes. “Let’s see. Sell BP before Spring 2010. There’s going to be a massive oil spill in the gulf. Google keeps rising. Skip the Facebook IPO. There’s gonna be a run on bitcoin. I wish I remembered the details but I know it’s going to break $10k, so get in early on that one. Ummm, oh god, yeah the whole market crashes in 08, like huge. I think in the fall? That’s all I can think of.” 

Peter huffed, one side of his mouth quirked up. “So I’m guessing you’re not a believer in the butterfly effect?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes and replied, “I’m here specifically to kickstart it. And let me tell you, I’m not impressed with the results so far, I mean, still here.” He wiggled his fingers. “Time can be rewritten but it seems more resilient than expected.”

“That’s a fascinating theory, and I’m enjoying it, so don’t rush off on my account. Has it occurred to you that it’s already been rewritten but that you're just still here?” 

“You’re just as weird as my Peter. Less crazy and murdery, but weird. And no, I’ve been trying hard not to think that.” 

“Why am I weird? because I find you enjoyable?” 

“It’s not a huge club,” Stiles replied. “I mean, I got to Scott early, and for a lot of the pack it was like forged in fire. But I’m definitely an acquired taste for most.” 

“And your Peter?” 

“Well, he hated me less than he hated a lot of people, so I guess that’s consistent.” 

“Well, I’ll admit that having a conversation about my evil doppelgänger from another timeline is strange, but I’m enjoying it.” 

Stiles looked at him in horror. 

“What?” 

“You don’t think that’s what I did, do you? I didn’t punch through to a whole alternate reality?” 

Peter rolled his head back and laughed, then leaned forward, “Of course not. There’s no proof they exist for one. Whereas there’s evidence that other people have rewritten this timeline, even if no one bothered to write down the details beyond how they did it” He paused, clearly in his element. “No, my current theory is that the shadow of the nemeton is affecting things. Reality is squishy here. Not endlessly, but enough that it might be keeping you around.” 

“So, yay I’m alive but like trapped in Beacon Hills?” 

“Possibly. Or possibly it’s just delayed your departure. Or possibly it warped the spell altogether and you’re free to live a complete life. The possibilities are, well, not endless, but varied.” 

“You don’t think it’ll affect other Stiles do you? Like I’m not going to steal his life?” 

“I’m not a magical theorist, so I don’t know. It doesn’t seem likely though. This is his timeline. You’re the one that isn’t woven into this timestream. So no, my guess is he’s completely safe. We can confirm with Deaton though.” 

Stiles thought about that for a moment, watching people pass on the street. “But if I don’t just go away, what happens to me? I mean, there’s an 8 year old me like 2 miles away. I can’t just be some other Mieczyslaw Stilinski, because I can tell you, there’s exactly one of those in the United States.” 

“Well, not to borrow tomorrow’s problems, but I have contacts that can create a new basic identity for you. Start thinking about a name. If you’re still here tomorrow we’ll start working on making it happen.” 

Stiles slumped down into his seat. “I mean-“ he started to say, “no. I can’t think like that. It’s not going to happen.” 

“You saw me come back from the dead. You saw the Doctors raise the Beast, and this is the step that’s too far for you?” 

Stiles looked across the table at him, “You don’t understand, Scott died on the nemeton to send me back here. We wrote the spell in his blood, carved the runes into his body, and I watched him bleed out and the spell catch on fire to send me here, so I could fix shit and die myself.” By the time he was done there were tears sliding down his face. “Everyone else is gone.” 

Peter looked at him, an unreadable look on his face, and finally he opened his mouth. “You tied the spell to the nemeton. You flung yourself on its mercy and gave yourself into its care, and you’re still here because it’s not done with you. So maybe accept that. Maybe it’s giving you a gift. Or maybe it’s a curse. But so far, all I see is a timeline that is divergent from what you know, and you complaining that you’re here to see it.”

Stiles whipped back into his seat and opened his mouth, but before he could speak Peter continued, “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I imagine my temper was not that different in that timeline.” 

Stiles snorted, sagging a little. “Yeah, that felt pretty familiar. I guess you’re right. I still think I’ll probably be gone soon, I didn’t think about the effects of the nemeton too much. But it’s dormant here. It shouldn’t have the power to do that much.” 

Peter shrugged. “Like I said, it’s only my theory. I might be wrong. I hope not, and I’m sure Talia would be thrilled if you stuck around too. It’s not a worst case scenario you know. We’ll help you get things figured out. You’re not alone.” 

Stiles looked at his phone, it was almost 5. “Should we head back? I’m not sure what the schedule is.” 

Peter smiled. “We should start to, yes. We don’t want anyone who might be watching to worry if we’re not in our places. Derek and Laura will be home for dinner then head back out to the game. Tomorrow is the full moon, but tonight is still Talia’s birthday and so we’ll be together to celebrate it.” 

“Well let’s not be late,” Stiles said, almost shyly.

“We’re not telling Derek and Laura until afterward,” Peter added. “Just to make sure nothing gets back to Kate. We’re just telling them you’re a visitor from another pack.” 

Stiles smiled. “Learning to lie to wolves was such a pain in the ass.” 

“But worth it,” Peter said with a laugh and they stood up and walked towards the door. Before they could leave, the door opened and Gerard Argent walked in. Stiles stiffened slightly when he saw him, but Peter stepped between them, keeping the man’s attention. He saw Peter and Gerard acknowledge each other with a glance, and the old man and the younger man with him stepped to the side so he and Peter could exit.

Once they got outside Peter unlocked his mustang and they got in. Peter murmured, “Don’t look at him. We’re going to pull out and drive home, I’ll stop and get gas along the way. No sign that I’m worried beyond seeing a hunter I recognize.” 

Stiles nodded, and they took off. “Did they say anything?” 

“His friend said ‘well isn’t that awkward.’ Nothing telling. They’re professionals, I wouldn’t expect them to reveal anything.” 

They drove in silence to the gas station and then up the back road that led to the Hale House. Stiles’ silence seemed contagious and Peter kept his comments to a minimum. When they pulled in at the house, Stiles made no move to get out of the car. 

He knew that Derek and Laura were probably home by now, and he wasn't sure he was ready to see them. So much of the last few years had been in the shadow of this night. Laura and her death had been such a pivotal event for so many things, that it was more daunting than meeting Talia, and he hadn’t had the time to prepare for this. He’d known for weeks that he would be meeting Talia, but meeting Laura, and seeing Derek again, those were things he hadn’t prepared for. After a moment he climbed out and followed Peter up the steps and back through the door.

The house had been quiet earlier, with the pack out and about, either at work or on patrol or just running errands. Now, with 15 people filling it, it felt alive and almost oppressive because the Hales were loud. Everyone was talking and laughing and so fucking alive it made his chest ache. He saw a very young Cora rushing up the stairs just as they came in, and then several heads turned to watch them. 

Stiles wasn’t exactly sure what Talia had told people, other than knowing that Derek and Laura were definitely not in the know. So he just waved and said an awkward “Ummm hi.” 

Peter put a hand on his shoulder and propelled him forward. “Stiles, this is Samuel, Talia’s husband,” he said, stopping in front of the man who looked so much like Derek it took his breath away. No doubt where those magical eyes had come from. 

“Hi Mr. Hale, it’s really nice to meet you,” Stiles said, and he meant it. Derek had revered his mother, but had idolized his father, who he had been very close to. 

“Stiles, Talia has told me a lot about you,” Samuel said. “I hope we get a chance to talk while you’re here.” 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, that would be great,” he replied, “I’d like that a lot.” 

Peter did a quick round of introductions, some of the pack were people Stiles knew stories about, some he only knew from the few photos that had survived. He quickly realized that all of the adults had heard the basics of his story, and they were all trying to act cool about it. They failed terribly. Derek’s inability to be subtle made a lot more sense after even a few moments. Finally they made it back around to Talia, and Stiles gave her a quick “Happy birthday” before she started ushering everyone into the enormous dining room while shouting up the stairs for Laura, Derek, and Cora. 

She sat Stiles at her left, the traditional space for a visitor from another pack, and Stiles nodded understanding. The rest of the pack filtered in and Peter ended up on the other end of the table from him as a second would with a visitor. A few minutes later Derek and Laura spilled into the room followed by Cora. Stiles had long ago learned how to control his reactions around his werewolf friends to avoid awkward conversations, so he was fairly sure there was no outward sign of his reaction to seeing Derek as he slipped into his chair not far down the table and across. 

The conversation was lively and Stiles enjoyed talking to Talia’s cousin Leanne, in spite of his anxiety. She was a teacher he’d had in the fifth grade, and she delighted in asking him questions about his own schooling, so he talked about the teacher he’d had in grade school who’d always known when he was causing trouble. 

“How did you come to join a pack as a human?” Laura asked from Leanne’s other side. “Were you born into it?” 

“Oh no,” Stiles said. “I wasn’t even aware of the supernatural until I was in high school and my best friend was bitten.” 

The conversation at the table quieted for a moment as everyone started to listen in on their exchange, at least some of them knew who the alpha in question had been in his timeline.

“Really? On purpose or was it an accident?” Laura asked, clearly interested.

“You know, I never got a chance to ask the alpha who bit him. I imagine it was sort of a crime of opportunity. The alpha wasn’t really in his right mind.” 

“Wait, a rogue alpha? Where are you from?” Laura asked, before glancing at her mom, “did you know about this?” 

Talia nodded, “Yes, I recently became aware of the situation. It’s why Stiles is here actually, he knows someone who knows Peter.” 

Laura nodded, “That must have been terrible. What happened with the alpha?” 

“Well,” Stiles replied, “you know, we eventually figured out who it was and were able to, you know, take care of it.” 

“By yourselves?” Laura asked. 

“Well no. We had some help.” 

“Hunters?” she asked, clearly fascinated with the story.

“A little bit, but you know, in the end it was my friend Lydia who has a gift for making Molotov cocktails and some final assistance from-“ He paused, “well, another werewolf friend.” 

“There’s a Lydia at my school!” Cora said from her seat. “She has red hair and bosses everyone around.” 

“She sounds just as awesome as my friend Lydia then,” Stiles replied, smiling at her.

“She’s not awesome, she’s a bully. I hate her.” Cora grumbled. And Stiles had a flash of realizing that yes his Cora and Lydia would definitely have had friction between them if they’d spent much time together. 

“So what brought you here?” Laura asked. “Mom didn’t really say.”

“Oh, I had some things to take care of in the area, so Peter and your mom invited me to have dinner since I was already in town.” 

“Cool, will you be around tomorrow? I’d like to hear more about your pack.” 

“Maybe, my plans are still up in the air at the moment, and I’m not sure exactly when I’m leaving,” Stiles replied, utterly factual. 

“Are you an emissary then?” Leanne asked. 

“No, with all of the training that goes into that, and between the weird supernatural things and trying to finish high school, there hasn’t really been time to think about, you know, long term life plans beyond college. Plus, I had an internship with the FBI last year that would have made emissary training really impossible, but I had to bail on it early. Now I’m kind of having to rethink my plans for the future.” It was a masterpiece of lying to werewolves. It was all true, each line. But combined, the story it told was completely false. 

“You’re interested in law enforcement?” Leanne added, and knowing she recognized him he knew it was a nudge about his father.

“I was, well, I mean, I still am I guess. But things changed this last year, so we’ll see what happens.” 

She smiled and Stiles felt like he’d won something. It all reminded him of Derek, who’d taken strange pride in his gradual improvement in his ability to deceive the werewolf’s senses, during the summer they’d spent looking for Erica and Boyd. He glanced down the table at Derek who was slipping his peas onto Cora’s plate every time she wasn’t paying attention, and he wondered what he would be like without the loss and pain his Derek had known. 

The rest of the meal passed in a flurry of conversation and Stiles was surprised at how relaxed everyone seemed. Afterwards Derek and Laura headed back out for his basketball game, and once they were gone Talia slipped out of the room to go talk to Cora. Stiles knew the plan was to get her out of the house to keep her safe, but he wasn’t sure what she was going to be told. He found himself wandering into the family room looking at the family photos on the wall. A few minutes later Leanne joined him. 

“I feel like I should apologize for that, but it seemed like you were enjoying yourself as much as I was,” she said. 

“No, I mean, I was. No need to apologize. It reminded me of my Derek, it was-“ he thought for a moment. “it was nice.” 

“This must all be very strange for you.” She clarified, “Being here.” 

He smiled. “I mean, I knew what I was coming back to. So I knew there was a chance I would see some of you since I wasn’t sure who’d be at the house when I got here. What’s strange is that I’m still here.” 

“Peter says he thinks the nemeton is keeping you here.” 

“Yeah, which is weird. I think it’s just that the timeline hasn’t really changed yet. I also wonder if there’s something I didn’t take into account. I trust Talia. I know she has backup plans in place, but I’m just worried.” 

“I’m confident she’s got this handled. I’ve read over what you wrote, and this was a perfect trap. Catching us all on a night when Deaton was out of town. And knowing about the tunnels under the house. It was a well put together plan. But she is warned, and Deaton is back, and it’s all going to go fine.” 

“I’m not really used to plans working out,” Stiles frowned, and tried to relax the death grip of his hands on his crossed arms. 

Leanne leaned forward and put her hand over his fingers where he was clutching at his sleeve. “This one will.” She patted his hand, then turned and wandered back down the hall. A few minutes later Talia joined him as he examined a much older group photo, trying to decide if it was Talia’s father’s era or before.

“This is my father Alpha Lucas Hale,” she said, pointing out someone on the right side of the photo. The man was shorter and light haired like Peter. 

“I was trying to decide,” Stiles said with a small laugh. He turned to Talia, “What did you decide about Cora?” 

“I’m confident we know where Argent’s people are around the house right now, and Robert is making sure the path to the treehouse is clear so she can slip out just like she did in your time.” 

“It’s weird that we’re planning things to go the way they did in my timeline. That’s just weird.” 

“Nothing has changed yet. And that’s not where I want things to start.” She tilted her head, listening to something Stiles couldn’t hear. “She just went out the side door. Robert is going to wait at the tree line and make sure she gets there safe, then he’ll head to the house openly and come in the front for cake.” 

“Less than an hour to go,” he replied looking at the cheap phone Peter had loaned him.

“Everyone is in place. Deaton texted, he’s at the edge of the Preserve, but firmly in range of a different cell tower. As soon as we feel the ash line go up around the house he’ll call 9-1-1 and report gunshots and fire from here. Everyone in the house can control their shift even in great stress. You’re sure you can break the ash line?” 

“I think so yes. I mean I’ve only really been able to practice on lines that Deaton can put down, so if whoever they’ve got is stronger than him I won’t know, but how likely is that?” 

“Deaton isn’t that strong, magically. It’s why he’s a good choice for this territory. The nemeton would pull a stronger talent to it.” 

“Okay, yeah, that’s the kind of thing it would have been good for him to tell me at any time in the past.” 

She smiled and patted his shoulder. “He’s pretty sensitive about it. His sister is a real power. He’s merely competent, which is what I needed.”

“Well, here’s hoping they don’t have a real power with them,” he said with a smile.

“There’s a lot of mercenary hedge witches and minor talents capable of laying mountain ash.” 

Stiles shrugged, still worried about a worst case scenario, though he knew that with emergency services coming, even if he couldn’t break the line the fire wouldn’t spread as the original had. 

“Come on, let’s go have some cake,” she prodded, “Robert’s back.” 

Talia’s older brother was someone Stiles was curious to meet. Derek hadn’t cared for him when he was younger, preferring the more outgoing Peter. But in stories from Deaton and Satomi, Stiles had caught glimpses, so he followed Talia back to the kitchen where the cake was set up on the island between the kitchen and the dining room. Stiles checked his phone, it was almost 730. 

Talia walked Stiles past the cake to a tall, lean man off to the side, and introduced him as her brother Robert. Stiles shook his hand and asked, “Did you really run the Pacific Crest Trail as a wolf?” 

Robert blinked at him, and a smile spread slowly across his face, his eyes lighting up as he replied, “I’m not sure anyone has ever started a conversation with me by bringing that up.”

“Satomi told me about it. That you spent a year teaching her the full shift, and to celebrate you ran the trail together.” 

“That was an amazing summer,” Robert said, fondness creasing the corners of his eyes, “How did that come up?” 

“My Derek, after he full shifted the first time, I was curious about it. He was gone for awhile though so I went to talk to her.” 

“She was a good choice. She can actually manage an Anubis shift now. Her control is quite extraordinary.” 

“Seriously? Like, wolf head human body style?” Stiles said, “How did I not know that’s a thing?” 

Robert grinned. “It’s not a common shift, because it takes both remarkable control and the power to full shift, but it’s impressive. It’s also fairly useless except as a brag, which isn’t her style.” 

Behind them Peter called for everyone’s attention, and Stiles looked at his phone, it was getting close to 8. He suspected that Peter and Talia had quite a flare for the dramatic, and they were playing it up a little bit. Stiles thought about those wide windows that surrounded him and it occurred to him that the hunters might be indulging in some melodrama of their own. He wondered if lighting the candles would signal the start of everything from inside or out, and what the wolves had overheard while tracking the hunters all afternoon.

Peter took some time to toast the birthday alpha, and then Talia talked for a few more moments. It was lovely, and Stiles appreciated that they could manage all of that knowing what was coming. Then, a few minutes after 8, just as Peter was reaching forward to light the candles, Stiles felt the light pressure that meant an ashline was in place, and he saw the wolves all respond to it. He turned to look at Robert, “I guess it’s show time,” he said and Robert’s expression turned predatory. Stiles glanced down at his phone, the signal was gone. As they’d suspected the hunters were jamming the tower. 

He turned and looked out the windows and could see shapes moving in the dark, he could feel the ashline just beyond the window and was impressed. The easiest would have been to create a classic circle, but that allowed that someone might survive by just being far enough outside the house. This barrier was right against the house. A moment later he heard a soft whoosh as the fire caught and he glanced at Talia who nodded. It was time. 

He rushed out of the kitchen down the hall and made his way to the side door Cora had left through. It was recessed in the porch, and there was no direct view from the treeline so it would provide some protection from bullets while he tried to break the circle. 

He cracked open the door to give him access to the ashline, and pushed his will against the thick dark line, which didn’t move. He reached forward to touch it, but the strength behind it was so great that he could feel it pushing against his spark. He turned and spoke quietly, knowing the wolves could hear, “Whoever it is, he’s strong. I think I can get it though, give me a minute.”

Then he reached for the pocket knife he’d started carrying a couple of years before, flipping it open as he pushed the door open wider. He slashed the knife across his palm, wincing a bit at the pain, but using that to focus his intent and mumble the short cantrip to bond the blood to his will, which was a great bump in power though it could be dangerous if misjudged. He reached with his mind toward the ashline, grappling with the will that held it in place. 

A terrifyingly familiar voice floated out of the dark, “Oh little spark, you’re not the only one who knows that little blood magic trick, but you’re not getting through my ashline.” 

Stiles head shot up as a face appeared out of the night, and his face blanched, and his lost his hold on his will. “Ms. Blake?” he whispered.

Her brows crinkled a bit, “No, my name is Julia, not that it will matter for long.” She raised her arm and pointed a gun at his chest as time seemed to slow to a crawl. In his head was a maelstrom of grief and terror-

-and then memory flooded in:

“Do you know where his father is?” 

“Derek-“ 

The flash of mountain ash

Allison bow in hand 

The flash of a knife in the dark

Scott biting the nogitsune 

A tub of ice

The darkness 

A white room 

Riddles in the dark

Coming screaming back to life

A sword sinking into flesh 

The nightmare of rebirth from the nogitsune’s darkness

  
  


-which merged into a very real scream as some part of his mind that had been asleep or not paying attention or that he’d just never noticed rippled into awareness, clouding his mind with a welter of confusing sensations and a towering inferno of rage and power which swept away the ashline before it, and slammed into the Darach with a flare of fire that burned hot blue and black. 

Still moving slowly, Julia had no time to react as the rush of furious power overtook her, and in a flash she was gone and the strange fire vanished. The rage and power swirled back into his mind and he slumped back against the doorway, utterly horrified at what he’d done. He jolted back into motion and turned to shout into the house, “it’s gone!” but it was unnecessary, as he could hear the wolves pouring out of the other exits.

In the distance he heard sirens, and a gunshot go off. He turned and ran for the front of the house. As he slipped out the front door he saw Talia’s claws rip Kate’s throat out, and his heart soared. He was ready to go, knew that it was time. With Jennifer Blake and Kate both dead there was no way that the timeline wasn't changed now.

He scanned the activity in the yard for Gerard, who he couldn’t see in the dim light. He also couldn’t see any sign of Peter. The rest of the werewolves were following the plan and concentrating on disarming and securing the hunters. The exceptions, he knew, were to be Kate and Gerard who were both to die. 

He could hear the sirens getting closer and the flames crawling up the sides of the house. He turned to where Talia was sprinting away with Kate’s body before the sirens arrived. He jumped over the railing and knelt where Kate’s body had fallen. If he could get it to work he knew a spell that could hide the blood. 

He reached for his spark but could only find the pulsing dark power that had surged forward to kill Jennifer. In his mind he touched it, feeling an echo of that rage and fury fill his mind. He looked down at the blood and pushed at it with his mind, and with a flare of that same fire, burning blue and black, it all vanished, and the fire swirled away again. 

Stiles leaned back. Whatever the power he was using was, it didn’t exhaust him the way using his spark always had. This was euphoric and, he suspected, treacherous. There was something in the power that reminded him of whispered riddles and violent memories. He shuddered, unsure what it all meant. He knew Talia was hiding Kate’s body then changing her clothes and checking in with Cora before she headed back. 

Stiles stood up and turned around as the flashing lights joined the fire spreading up the walls of the house in illuminating the yard, and a dozen memories of his father finding him at various crime scenes flashed through his head as he walked towards the arriving police cars. A moment later his past met the present as Noah Stilinski stepped out of his cruiser and looked at his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pdxtrent says-  
So to clarify, there will be more of this. 
> 
> So.  
Much.  
More.
> 
> Chapter 3 is in revision and 4 is started, well, one part of it is. There is a lot to come in this, because there’s so much to address.  
As always, kudos and comments are what motivate me. Lol, and feel free to tell me what parts of canon you’re looking forward to us addressing.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles watched his dad walk toward him. It was strange to see him here, looking so much younger than the last time he’d seen him alive when Monroe had first come back to town. He knew with his back to the fire his face would mostly be in shadow, and so he could watch him approach. The first thing he noticed was that dad looked- and there was no other way to say it- like shit. Worse even than in the aftermath of Matt Daehler’s rampage. He looked defeated and tired in a way Stiles hadn’t remembered. 

He wished he could reach out and pull him into a hug, to tell him one last time he loved him. And even with a houseful of living Hales, and all of his living pack spread across town, it was this right now, knowing his father would live without Monroe and her goons coming back, that really gave him his first moment of pride in what he’d done. 

He could hear the deeper sirens of the fire trucks coming down the driveway to the Hale House, and glancing back at the fire he could tell the house would be saved this time. The people had all been saved. Kate was dead. His father was alive. The timeline was certainly shifted. 

He could go now. 

Stiles took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. The heat of the flames warmed his face as the strange dark fire hadn’t. 

“Excuse me, is everyone out of the house?” Stiles heard his father ask him. Stiles blinked back to his surroundings, and looked back at him. 

“Yeah. Everyone got out,” he glanced to the hunters laid out on the ground. “No thanks to those assholes.” 

“We had a report of gunshots and the fire. Do you know where Talia Hale is, or Peter?” he heard the man ask, and Stiles glanced around, shaking his head. “Talia went out the side door, she should be around here somewhere. Peter was just here. I’m not sure where he went.” 

A voice from behind them washed over Stiles, “Deputy? I’m Sam Hale, you’ve met my wife I think.” Stiles glanced back at Samuel, and in the flashing half light he looked so much like Derek that Stiles just wanted to pretend for a moment that it really was Derek. That it was all a terrible dream, and he’d wake up with his dad and Derek there. That Scott would come bursting through the door in a moment.

He wondered if this floaty, detached feeling was the beginning of him finally going away or if he was just in shock. This wouldn’t be a bad way to go, he thought. His dad was here, almost-Derek was alive. He was okay with this being the time. He looked down at his shaking hand, expecting to see it fading out or turning to dust, but instead it was just coated with a thin dusting of something dark that shimmered in the firelight. 

A weight settled on his shoulders and he glanced over at Peter who’d put his arm around Stiles and drew him away from where Samuel and his dad were talking. 

“Are you okay?” Peter asked, “you smell odd.” 

“I’m not sure. I feel-“ Stiles looked for words. “I’m not sure. Shock maybe? Or maybe this is the time. I can’t tell, but it feels like shock.” 

“Gerard’s not dead yet,” Peter admitted. “I lost him in the trees.” 

That got Stiles' attention, he felt his senses sharpen again as he came back into himself and focused on the problem of Gerard. “Well fuck, do you think the wolves on the perimeter caught him? Talia took down Kate. I think I got rid of the blood, but my magic-“ he shook his head, “there’s something off about it. The witch they were using was Jennifer Blake, well I guess her real name is Julia Baccari, she was the Darach I mentioned in my notes. She pointed a gun at me, but when I went to defend myself, I’m not sure, it’s like my magic went crazy. It completely obliterated her. I don’t even know what the fuck that was, and when I went to remove the blood it acted the same way.” 

“I’m a werewolf, so my personal experience with magic is very limited, could it have been the nemeton?”

“Maybe. But this felt different. Whatever it was, it wasn’t my spark, and I’m a little freaked out.”

“We’ll talk to Deaton about it tomorrow.” Peter pursed his lips. “I do wonder how Gerard got involved with a Darach, or actually I guess, how she got involved with him.” 

“I don’t know. She was wanting revenge on Deucalion, and the power of the nemeton in my timeline. I didn’t realize she even knew Gerard.” Stiles replied. “I can’t believe that fucker got away again. How does he do that?”

“This time he had a car on the road, the packs were covering more discreetly, and concentrated mostly between us and Cora to keep her safe. They’re pulling back now that everything seems to be under control.”

Stiles couldn’t help thinking back to that moment when he’d seen Jennifer-Julia. The flare of panic and the rush of memory, the rising tide of power. It reminded him of the nogitsune, he still felt the wash of triggered memories in the residual adrenaline of escaping the burning house. His hands still trembled, and his fingers were icy, despite the heat radiating from the flames.

Peter talked to him until his heart slowed and the agitation started to fade. He could still hear Samuel talking behind him and his dad asking questions. When he looked around, he could see the other deputies taking control of the hunters and getting statements from the various Hales. He heard a shout when one of the deputies found and disabled the cell tower jammer. The firefighters arrived and had the fire almost out, and as the fire faded so did the ambient light, leaving only that given off by the headlights and the flashing blues and reds of the various emergency vehicle lighting. 

He watched as Talia slipped back into the yard and now she was talking to one of the other deputies. Peter kept him out of the way, eventually letting his arm slip off of Stiles’ shoulders but keeping close. It was strange how comfortable he found this Peter. Something dependable among the madness. It was just the opposite of how he’d viewed his Peter, which was something crazy among the dependable. 

“Can you hear what’s being said by all the hunters?” Stiles asked Peter in a low voice. 

“They’re not all hunters actually, which is quite sloppy of Gerard. Maybe his network is stretched more thinly than I expected, he doesn’t even have Christopher here.” 

“Chris isn’t a bad guy.” Stiles said, “once you get the-“ Stiles stopped talking as one of the firetrucks turned on huge overhead spotlights to light up the area and he got a better look at the hunters he’d only seen in the dark. “Holy fuck. That’s Victoria.” 

Peter snapped towards where Stiles was looking. “That’s the matriarch?” He looked impressed, “It’s rare that they get out in the field and get their hands dirty.” 

“She’s as crazy as Gerard. She tried to kill Scott once.” 

“You left that part out,” Peter said, not quite an accusation. 

“I mean, that was in the usual run of crazy. I focused more on the actual existential threats. It would have taken me days to write out all the stupid shit.” 

“So Kate is dead, Gerard is going to be trying to keep a low profile and Victoria will likely be spending a very long time in jail.” Peter looked at him, “You saved 15 lives tonight, not including your own pack and all the deaths that happened along the way. Not a bad day’s work.” 

“And yet, I’m still here.” Stiles said. “So, why?” 

“The nemeton has a purpose for you, like I said,” Peter replied. 

“Like that doesn’t fill me with paranoia or anything,” Stiles mumbled in reply. “So are they admitting to it?” 

“They’re still in the ‘denying everything’ phase. But the local muscle they picked up will fold pretty quickly I suspect. Then it’s just breaking the rest of the conspiracy apart. Talia and Samuel are seeding the idea that it was possibly related to her political activities or retaliation for one of her cases. Finding a reason is going to be up to the sheriff’s department.” 

“Well it’s good for them to earn their paychecks.” Stiles said with a little smile. They chatted for a few more minutes, and slowly he began to feel like he was in control of his reactions again. Not long after that a deputy came and got Peter to take his statement, leaving Stiles by himself. He turned and looked back at the house, it was scorched but the damage looked to be mostly limited to the exterior and part of the roof. 

“It’s hard to believe how fast it can all be taken away isn’t it?” A well known voice said behind him. 

Stiles heart flip flopped and he turned around to face his father. “I’m just glad everyone is okay.” 

“Me too. I have a few questions if you don’t mind?” Noah said, a peculiar look on his face as he looked at Stiles. 

“Sure sure. You know, I’m not going anywhere. What can I help you with she-“ Stiles caught himself, “I mean deputy.” 

“My name is Noah. I just want to find out what you remember from before the fire.” 

“Sure sure.” Stiles replied. “We were in the kitchen, well, I was by the windows actually, talking to Robert. We were doing the whole birthday cake thing. I’m not sure what it was that caught my attention outside, but I saw this lady spray something against the house.” 

“Can you describe her? And I’m sorry what was your name?” 

“Uh it’s St-, um Stuart, yep I’m Stuart. Always been Stuart,” Stiles said. Mentally slapping himself. He knew the question was coming, he should have been prepared. 

“Alright Stuart,” his dad said, and Stiles could see the suspicion growing. His dad has always been able to tell when he was lying and apparently even not knowing it was his son he could still tell. “What’s your last name, for the report.”

Stiles opened his mouth and for some reason landed on a Supreme Court decision his government class had argued about for a week senior year, that he’d made fun of with Lydia, and he said, “Twombly sir.” 

Noah looked even more suspicious. “Stuart Twombly.” He wrote it down. “Could you describe this woman you saw?” 

Stiles could in fact. He had certainly seen Kate’s face in his nightmares often enough he could describe her quite clearly. “I think so,” he said. “Blonde, thirtyish. Wearing black like the rest of these psychos.” 

His dad continued taking notes. “And so what did you do then?” 

Stiles paused, unsure exactly what to say, because saying ‘I set a psycho witch on fire with dark magic’ probably wasn’t a good response. Finally he said, “I think I said something. I’m not sure. Suddenly everyone was moving around trying to figure out what was going on. Eventually we made it outside. I heard a gunshot but I was still inside when it happened. By the time I got outside everyone had things kind of under control, and I tried to just stay out of the way.” 

It wasn’t a story that presented him in a particularly heroic light, but it should work to keep attention off of him. He wasn’t involved in anything significant besides seeing the person who got away.

Except of course this was his dad who could spot a hole in a story a mile away.

“It seems like that must have taken you awhile to get outside, if everyone else already had things under control.” 

Stiles flinched slightly. There it was. He knew he was missing something. Time. “I’ll be honest, it’s not very clear in my head. I remember panicking a bit. I think I may have looked for my backpack. I wasn’t acting very smart,” he said after a moment. He wondered how long he had been trying to break the ashline. How long had it taken Ms. Blake’s body to burn. He might actually be missing some time. Fuck.

“So if no one else were to say they remembered when you came outside, what would you say to that?” 

“I’d say that they were probably busy with the psychos that tried to burn us alive, and them not paying attention to some random visitor is probably not surprising.” Stiles snapped back, losing his temper a bit, and then groaning internally because he’d just planted a target on himself.

“So you’re a visitor, not a member of the family?” Noah said, getting his intent face on. 

“Yes. I’m a friend of Peter’s, not family. He invited me to join them for dinner since I was in town to take care of a couple things.” Stiles was hoping to still get out of this. He’d prefer not to spend his last remaining hours of his life before he vanished in jail. These interviews used to be a lot easier when it was someone who knew he was the Sheriff’s son. He made a mental note to mention that to Peter when he no doubt mocked him later.

His dad tapped his pen against his notepad and Stiles knew he was in trouble. He knew that habit, and it never meant good things. “I’m going to have you sit in the back of my car for a bit while I look into this a little more, you don’t mind do you?”

Stiles mouth dropped. “Wait, are you arresting me?” 

“Not at this point,” his dad said. “I want to check in with a few people before I make that decision.” 

“Fine,” Stiles huffed, and walked over to his dad’s cruiser and climbed in the back, not shutting the door. Honestly once he sat down he realized it felt really good to sit. It had been a long day. He looked at the burned exterior of the house and realized it was unlikely the fire department was going to let anyone back in tonight. 

After he’d been there for a few minutes, watching his dad talk to several deputies, and then start talking to Peter and Talia, he heard a sound and looked back down the drive to where a car was pulling in. He looked at his phone, yep, it was probably time for Laura and Derek to arrive.

Laura pulled around the last corner of the driveway, parked in between two cruisers and jumped out, followed almost instantly by Derek. He watched them run over to their mother, but couldn’t hear what was said. He saw his dad ask a few questions, probably ascertaining where they’d been, but then he and Peter stepped away and kept talking. Stiles leaned his head back against the hard plastic seat and stopped paying attention, letting his mind wander back to the blue and black fire. 

So he wasn’t prepared for it when Derek grabbed his shirt and slammed him back against the hard plastic seat.

“Jesus Christ Derek!” Stiles hissed. “What’s your fucking problem?” 

“My problem, ‘Stiles’, or Stuart or whatever your name is, is that the cops say you’re involved in the fire. What, you thought you’d get away with helping them kill us all?” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open, outraged, “Wait, YOU think I was involved with helping Kate and Gerard? Are you fucking high?” Stiles clamped his mouth shut, too late. 

Derek jerked back. “Kate? No.” 

Stiles felt his rage bleeding away at the look on Derek’s face.

“I came here to stop them,” Stiles said gently. “But I can’t exactly explain werewolves and hunters to the cops, and my lying to cops skills are apparently not very good.” 

“But Kate said-“ Derek’s face grew stony. “No, you’re lying, it’s not her.” 

“Derek, listen to my heart. My name is Stiles. Well Mieczyslaw, but everyone calls me Stiles. For reasons, I can’t tell the cops my name. I promise you’ll get all the answers as soon as you can sit down with your parents. They know who I am, why I’m here, what Kate was up to, everything.” 

“Everything?” Derek replied, looking mortified. 

“Derek, there is not a single person who is going to blame you for Kate. This was not the first time she’s done this.” 

“But she loves me,” Derek whispered. “I could hear she meant it.” 

“I don’t know Derek. She and I never had a heart to heart, so maybe she did love you. But she hated werewolves more. She was a codeless hunter, this was all about her being an evil killer, not about you.” 

Derek leaned against the cruiser. “I can’t believe this. I have to-“ He paused, before backing away, “I’m going to call her.” Derek pulled out his phone and dialed. 

Stiles flashed to Kate’s body, hidden who knows how close to the house, and he started to say, “that might not be a good idea” When he heard a phone ringing in the yard, and watched Derek turn to look at it, then glance back over at him before walking toward it. Stiles watched him go. 

He continued to watch through the windshield as one of the deputies who was much closer, reached down and picked up the ringing phone. He watched Derek reach the deputy and look at the phone ringing and watched him disconnect the call on his phone. It was a slow motion train wreck of a heart while it broke. And not just any heart, it was Derek’s. 

He saw Talia break away from Noah and Peter again, and saw Laura reach him first. Stiles wasn’t sure what she had heard and what she’d figured out, but she knew her brother was hurting. 

Stiles didn’t really want to watch, but he also knew this was his fault. The fallout of this was all on him. He could have gone back further. Gerard still escaped and they were going to have to hunt him down. And yes, the family was still saved and that alone had made it all worth it. But the whole point of coming here and now was lost. Gerard would be on the alert now. He knew there had to be other ways to neutralize the spell, they would just be harder. 

He wondered if Jennifer had been the one to lay the vengeance spell. It seemed likely, since it took a very powerful caster to do it, and she was definitely capable. He was still tracing the probability of connections when he heard his dad say, “Stuart?” 

Stiles glanced up and over at him. “Oh yes, right. Hi deputy. Sorry I was just-“ he waved his hand around, “contemplating, you know, life.” 

His dad gave him a long look that Stiles couldn’t quite understand, like he was seeing something and trying to understand it.

“Son, Peter explained a bit about what was going on. Sorry to jump to conclusions.”

Stiles eyes shifted to Peter. What the hell had he told his dad? “Well yeah, it’s just a little weird you know?” Stiles said. 

“Son, don’t ever let anyone make you feel weird about your relationship. You love who you love, and I’m sorry your family doesn’t really accept that.” 

Stiles mouth gaped open. “My family. Right. Well, you know. It’s complicated.” There was a moment when everything came into focus, and Stiles realized that Peter had told his dad that they were in a relationship. “You know how families can be.” He finished in a lame voice.

Noah gave him another long searching look, his gaze traveling from Stiles’ eyes, to his hair, down to his mouth, back to his eyes, less like he was a part of this investigation, and more like he was trying to puzzle something out personally. Eventually what he said was, “It sounds like the firefighters are going to let you guys in to get things to take for the night, and Peter’s calling the hotels in town to make sure there’s rooms for Talia and Sam and the kids.” He handed Stiles his card, “And if you think of anything else, give me a call.”

“Yep, for sure,” Stiles said nodding. “And thank you D- deputy. For you know, not arresting me for being weird.” 

“You remind me a little of my son,” Noah said with a smile, “he’s a terrible liar too. But he’s a good kid.” 

Stiles ducked his head and smiled to himself. He wondered if his dad had often talked about him at work. “I’m sure he’s glad he has you for a dad.” Noah’s face clouded slightly, looking at him one last time and nodding, before he walked back over to the other deputies. 

Stiles slipped out of the cruiser and walked over to Peter who stood near the others, smirking at him. “Hi snookums,” Stiles said softly, knowing all the wolf ears would hear. “I understand there’s been quite an upgrade in our relationship today.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s easier than trying to explain your actual background.” 

Stiles inclined his head, Peter had a point. “I understand that they’re going to let us in the house to grab stuff for the night?” 

“Yes, they’re just checking for hot spots and any remaining smoldering, before they do.” 

“Thank god, and hey, I even listened to my dad and packed a clean pair of underwear, just in case, so I’m hoping you’ll drop me off at a hotel somewhere then. Or someone will?” 

“I’ve already booked you a room,” Peter replied.

“Oh, you didn’t have to. I mean, I came prepared, I have some cash.” 

“Stiles, a hotel room is the least we can do for you. We owe you everything.” 

Stiles looked away, uncomfortable. “I mean, you don’t really. I didn’t come to save you. I mean, I did. But it was because this seemed like the right time.” 

“Really?” Peter replied. “And the opportunity to correct what you felt was a terrible tragedy didn’t affect your decision at all?” 

“I mean, it did, I wanted to fix what I could. But it did present what seemed the best opportunity.” 

“Because by warning us, you could take out Gerard,” Peter replied. “And are you upset we failed?” 

“No? I mean, I know you tried. He’s just got more lives than a cat. The fucker. I hope I’m still around tomorrow so I can talk to Deaton, maybe figure out what’s going on with my magic, work out a plan to make the nogitsune’s prison more secure, then I’ll head out and start tracking him down.” 

“Can you give me a few days?” Peter asked. 

“Sure, assuming I’m still here, it’ll probably take a couple days to get things worked out with Deaton, and some time to figure out how to secure the nogitsune anyway. Why?” 

“I’m confident at this point you’re here to stay. And it’ll take me a few days to get all the documents for your identity,” Peter replied. “I’ll call in the morning and get the electronic records taken care of, but the physical documents will take a few days to get. Plus I believe my sister has some more questions for you. And I want to check in with a few contacts I have, that might be able to shine a light on what the nemeton is doing with you.”

“You don’t think I’m going to go to bed tonight and not wake up then?” 

“I don’t think you even think that,” Peter replied, rolling his eyes.

“No.” Stiles said with a dip of his head to the side, “I don’t really.” He watched while the last of the deputies backed out and turned back to the main road. “I don’t know what to do with myself now,” he finally said. 

Peter was silent for a moment. “You can be anyone you want to be.” 

Stiles shook his head. “No, you see I can’t. Because who I am, who I want to be is an eight year old asleep a couple miles that way,” he said, flinging his hand out toward Beacon Hills. “All I ever wanted to be was me. I love my dad. I love my pack. I was excited for my life. But that’s all his now. That Stiles. My pack is still just a bunch of third graders and one very angry teenager.” 

“And me,” Peter reminded him. “Assuming you thought of me as pack.” 

“I’m not sure you thought of you as pack,” Stiles replied, “but yes. And you. But you already have a pack here.” 

“And you think you don’t?” Peter asked. 

“None of them know me,” Stiles said quietly. “I mean, they might feel grateful, but gratitude is a terrible thing to build a pack bond on.” 

“My sister already likes you. Not just because of who you were to him, but because she likes you. She’ll want to keep you. Robert likes you as well, and I’m sure you know he isn’t a big fan of most people. Give them a chance to get to know you.” 

“And him?” Stiles said looking at Peter in the harsh light of the spotlights. “Once he understands everything do you think he’ll even want me here?”

“I think you should give him a chance to be who he is, not who you remember,” Peter replied pointedly. “He is not forged in the same fire, you might say, and he is far more forgiving than you remember.” 

Stiles shrugged then turned to Peter, “I’m going to need a job, care to loan me some money for a few years? I think I can make some guesses about some stock performances.” 

Peter laughed, “How about you just come work for me and we’ll split the proceeds. I’ve got the capital and you’ve got some valuable insight.” 

Stiles barked out a laugh, “For real?” 

“I imagine we’ll be investigated at least once for insider trading, so that will be fun. But yes, you’re going to make the next few years breathtakingly easy.” 

“I still want to go to college, maybe now I can,” Stiles said. “I know the FBI is out, probably law enforcement altogether since anything more than a basic background check will reveal that my identity isn’t real.” 

“That’s true, but if you’re still inclined to go into law enforcement, there’s room as a sort of unofficial supernatural law enforcer, especially since the hunters seem to be becoming more-“ Peter paused.

“Evil? Corrupt? Vile?” 

“Yes.” Peter said with a smirk. “The nature of packs and territorial limits has always made them a necessity.” 

“But who watches the watchmen?” Stiles whispered excitedly.

“Exactly.” 

Stiles took a deep breath. “Okay, yeah. That’s a future I could think about.” 

“Let’s talk to Deaton and to Talia. And you have a job with me for now, that’s flexible around you going to school.” 

“Thanks Peter,” Stiles said. “I didn’t expect to be here.” They started to walk back to where the rest of the pack was gathered. Stiles knew that some of them had likely listened in, no matter how softly Peter and he had talked, but he’d long ago given up on private conversations around werewolves. 

Stiles didn’t even pretend to hide realizing the significance of her hand reaching up to grip the back of his neck, or the look of approval on both Samuel and Peter’s face when she did it. The touch signified acceptance, not necessarily in the pack, which was an organic thing and took time to grow, but it was acceptance into their orbit. It was a place to stand while he figured out life in this strange new world where he now found himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snowqueenlou says:  
Survivor shock? Poor Stiles. He lost them all, but he saved them all too. You know, that slo mo thing really happens, like, your little panic brain is off floating about 6 feet above you and to the right, but your task and triage brain is in the flow and you have all the time in the world. It’s completely surreal…
> 
> You might have noticed this is now a series. Well, not really, Part 2 will be more like a series of concurrent and adjacent short stories. We’ve got a lot of kids running around now, including 8 year old Stiles. But the adults are handling things here. What are the kids doing? Chapter 1 of Liminal tells you what Talia told Cora to get her into that treehouse. 
> 
> Pdxtrent says:   
I love the Liminal ficlets they’re a great snapshot of characters you won’t see a ton of, at least right away. Snowqueenlou has possibly nailed the best version of Cora I can imagine.   
In the comments people keep expecting the sheriff to recognize Stile immediately, and as you can see he clearly sees something. What that is... well, wait and see.   
I really enjoyed writing that Derek and Stiles moment, enjoy it because it’s the last you’ll see for a couple of chapters, Derek does not take this news well.   
Chapter 4 is coming along. Hopefully you’ll see it early next week. As always comments and kudos feed my soul and motivate me to write rather than reread one of my top ten faves for the 1000th time.


	4. Chapter 4

Day Two, Saturday:  
Stiles opened his eyes slowly to sunlight streaming in on his face. Every muscle in his body ached, like a thousand of the worst hangovers imaginable. He groaned and reached for the little flip-phone on the bedside table, it was past noon. He’d slept for almost twelve uninterrupted hours, and for the first time since the surrogate sacrifice he’d slept a full night without nightmares. Although maybe that wasn’t completely unexpected, since he had been running short on sleep for weeks, and using the trick Deaton has taught him to lean on his spark to keep going. His stomach rumbled, reminding him dinner had been a long time ago. 

He glanced around the surprisingly nice hotel room that he barely remembered staggering into the night before. His backpack was thrown in the chair, his clothes on the floor next to it. He grunted as he crawled out of the bed and hobbled to the worn old backpack, unzipping it and pulling out the ibuprofen and his Adderall, and hobbling into the sink to swallow them down with a mouthful of water.

His eyes shifted over to the shower thinking that it felt like years since his last one and he reached over and turned it on. A moment later he stepped in, and as the heat started to soak into his aching muscles he took a deep breath. Grabbing the body wash, he scrubbed away the scent of smoke. When he was done he dried off and wandered back in to get the spare pair of underwear he’d packed out of habit, then stared regretfully at his dirty clothes on the floor. As he contemplated putting them back on someone knocked on his door. He slipped on the hotel robe and went and opened the door, expecting Peter. 

It was Robert instead, holding a couple of shopping bags. “Talia and Samuel are back at the house meeting with a contractor, and Peter is off on his own errands, but Laura and I were left behind to make sure you got these.”

Stiles stepped out of the way, letting him in. “Thank god, I was just realizing I was going to have to put on the clothes that still smell like a fire.” 

“I’m here to save you from that fate, plus Laura wants me to make you come to lunch with us. Well, breakfast for you.” 

“I would eat breakfast with Gerard right now,” Stiles replied, “So yes yes, all the yeses.” He dumped the bags on the bed and looked at the clothes. He picked up the first shirt that caught his eye, a dark red, decidedly slim cut button down. Then he chose a pair of jeans, his size, but also slim cut. He turned to see Robert, in his comfortable jeans and graphic tee and said, “Peter picked these out.” 

Robert grinned and nodded. “He went out first thing this morning and came back with them.” 

Stiles groaned, then rolled his eyes towards Robert. “My Peter has complained about my wardrobe for years. The only thing that’s kept him from throwing it all away was a line of mountain ash around the inside of my closet and the threat that I’d set him on fire again if he did it. I feel like I came back in time and he was here to trap me in tight clothes.” 

Robert gave him a searching look, “Should I find something different?” 

Stiles grinned at him, “Are you kidding? No, that would be such an asshole move. No I’ll just replace all of his v-neck sweaters with oversized plaid shirts when he’s not paying attention.” He threw off the hotel robe and pulled on the jeans, which were obviously selected carefully, because there’s no way Peter just happened to find ones that were tight enough for him to fit into with barely room to put anything in the pockets. He wondered if Peter had been the one to teach Derek how to pick out jeans, it would explain a lot. “Thank god I switched to boxer briefs from boxers!” he added as he buttoned them up and then slipped on the shirt. 

He slid the phone and his wallet into the pockets, and reached for his keys. They caught the light a bit and he had a moment where his heart clenched, as he looked at the key to his mom’s Jeep, his dad's house, and Derek’s loft. Remnants of the life he’d left. All just relics now, though he supposed the key to his dad's house might be useful at some point in the future. He closed his fingers around them and then shoved them deep in his front pocket and turned to smile at Robert. “Okay, let’s get some food!” he said with a cheer he didn’t quite manage to feel.

Stiles sat in his usual seat at the diner he’d visited a thousand times with his dad, and marveled at the force of nature that was Laura Hale. She had a thousand questions about time travel and the future he’d left behind, as Talia had finally filled her and Derek in on the details of Stiles’ past when they got to the hotel the night before. Derek had stormed out afterwards, and hadn’t been seen since, which was apparently a typical Derek response even before the fire. Stiles wondered where he went when he felt the need to brood, in these years before the fire had destroyed his home. 

Robert was quieter than his siblings, as Stiles had expected, but his occasional questions revealed a sharp mind at work, clearly Peter wasn’t the only big brain in the family. 

He heard the bell on the front door ring as someone came in, but was intent on listening to Laura’s question, until he could feel a set of eyes peering at him and he turned-

-to stare into the eyes he saw everyday in the mirror. 

“Hi.” Stiles choked out the greeting to his eight year old self. “How’s it going?” 

“You’re in my seat,” his younger self replied. 

“Should I move?” Stiles asked. 

Younger him quirked his eyebrows in surprise and replied, “If I asked, would you?” 

Stiles smiled at him, “Maybe. Our food isn’t here yet, so we could move pretty easily. But we were here first.” 

“But this one has the best view!” the younger Stiles pointed out. “You can see both streets this way.”

Stiles smiled, he’d honestly forgotten why he and his dad had started sitting at this table. “Alright how ‘bout this, we’ll each guess a number. We can let Laura pick it, and whoever is closest wins?” 

Younger Stiles looked at him. “Deal,” and held out his hand, Stiles took it and they shook. As he pulled his arm back he took the opportunity to knock the rolled up silverware beside him on the floor, as he reached down to pick it up, he said very softly “Eight,” knowing Laura would hear him. As he sat back up and set the silverware back on the table he glanced up and saw that his dad had joined younger him.

“Stiles?” the sheriff said, looking at his son, “Do you want to grab a different table for today?” He turned his attention to Stiles and the Hales, “Sorry, he’s especially fond of this table.” 

“It has the best view I hear,” the time traveling Stiles replied, “we’re actually going to play a guessing game for it. Whoever gets the closest number wins.” He looked back at his younger self, “Ready?” 

“You don’t have to do that, we’ll grab a different table,” Noah replied. 

“Hey no!” adult Stiles said, “I remember how important these things are. And a deal is a deal.” 

He grinned at younger Stiles, “Ready?”

The younger Stiles was quivering with excitement. “Yes!” he shouted.

Stiles glanced at Laura, “Write down your number, I don’t want any accusations of cheating here.” 

She winked at him, then nodded and wrote down her number. “Alright, I’m ready,” she said.

Stiles looked at his younger self, “Do you want to go first or shall I?”

Younger Stiles eyed him, and older Stiles judged that he was going to tell him to choose first. “You first,” younger Stiles finally said. 

“Alright, I guess 111,” adult Stiles replied. 

Younger Stiles told Laura, “8,” then turned back to adult Stiles and added, “it’s my lucky number.” 

“It’s a good number.” 

Laura eyed him strangely and turned over her number, “8 was what I picked.” 

Younger Stiles smiled wide and turned to his dad, “See, it’s my lucky number! It worked.” 

Noah smiled at his son, dark circles under the deputy’s eyes from the long night, “Good job kid.” he said.

“Well I guess we better get moving,” adult Stiles said, “hey kid, Stiles was it? Which table should we pick?” 

Younger Stiles looked at him a moment, then deciding he was serious replied, “what’s important to you in a table?” 

Adult Stiles thought about it. “I want to be in the sunlight. That’s about it.” 

Younger Stiles zoomed off, taking his table choosing duty seriously.

Noah said, “You really didn’t need to do that. You’ve had a stressful enough last day.” 

Stiles smiled at him and bobbed his head, “I know I didn’t, but it hasn’t been that long since I was that age, and I remember how important it felt to have some choice in things. And look at how happy it made him,” he finished simply. “it doesn’t take much to make him happy at that age. It’s not til later that things get hard.” 

Noah watched him intently, there was a weighing or measuring going on behind his eyes, and Stiles wondered what he was seeing. 

Younger Stiles came back, “I’ve found the perfect booth.” he said confidently.

“The perfect one, huh?” the time traveler said, “this I have to see.” He pushed himself up, groaning a little from the aching muscles, and followed Stiles to a booth nearby. 

After listening to younger Stiles explain his logic on the superiority of the sun at this particular table over all the rest, adult Stiles replied, “I can’t argue with any of that, I believe you’ve found the best table, and it’s far better than my old table, well done little man!” He gave younger Stiles a high five. 

“What’s your name?” kid Stiles asked.

“I’m Stuart,” Stiles replied, aware his dad was in hearing range. “Thanks for picking out my awesome new table.” 

“Thanks for letting me have my table back,” kid Stiles said, and headed back to Noah as the Hales slid into the booth. 

“Well that’s got to be the weirdest moment of your day,” Laura said, “Seeing yourself.” 

“I’ve been expecting it, so not too weird. It’s not calling dad ‘dad’ that’s really weird.” 

“So why Stuart?” Robert asked. 

“Because I started saying Stiles and then caught myself,” he admitted, laughing a little. “I once introduced Derek as Miguel. I’m not great at coming up with names on the spot.” 

“Why Miguel?” Laura asked. “I mean, at least he speaks great Spanish.” 

“A fact I didn’t actually know at the time. There was a manhunt out for him, so saying Derek wasn’t the best idea.” 

“Wait, why? Mom didn’t tell us this part,” Laura asked clearly intrigued. 

“Ummm.” Stiles looked to the side rubbing his face with his hand. “Okay look, it was a very complicated time in our lives though eventually we did all manage to become friends.” 

“That’s nice, but why were the police looking for him?” Laura asked. 

“Scott and I might possibly have accused him of murder.” 

Laura started laughing. “Derek? My brother?” She kept giggling. “Stiles, my brother catches spiders and let’s them go outside. He’s a total softie.” 

Stiles grew still at this casual detail of who Derek had been. “He wasn’t really like that by the time I met him,” he finally said quietly. “This was right after you- that you... died. He was angry and totally alone, and I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think he was really really scared and lonely.”

Laura’s face grew still, his words hitting her. 

“But that won’t happen this time,” he assured her. “Forewarned is forearmed.” 

“I’ll get you a T-shirt with Shiva on it.” Robert quipped, sipping his tea. 

Stiles laughed. “Oh, quick wit, I love it.” 

Robert glanced down when his phone vibrated, then answered it, having a quick conversation with whoever it was then hanging up. “Samuel just got Derek back to the house. He’s still pretty angry.” 

“He’s so melodramatic.” Laura said with an eye roll, “first he runs off last night, and goes home to sneak into the house and mope. Then he runs off again as soon as they got there this morning.” 

She stopped talking as Holly, who’d worked at the diner for at the entirety of Stiles’ life, appeared with their food, which shut down the whole conversation while they started to eat. 

After they’d eaten and as they started to leave, Stiles caught little Stiles waving at him, so he smiled and pointed a finger back at him and gave him the thumbs up. Little Stiles looked so happy in that moment, it helped him feel like maybe there was some room in this new world for him.

When they arrived at the Hale House, Derek was outside talking to his parents and Peter, but as soon as he spotted Stiles he turned and walked back into the house. Stiles winced. 

“I’ll talk to him.” Laura said. “He shouldn’t be angry at you.” 

“No, he should. From his point of view he should, and yeah, I figured he’d hate me.” 

“But you came back here for him, and saved all of us!” Laura replied fiercely.

“No Laura, I came back here for all of them,” he waved vaguely in the direction of town. “I mean, coming here, meeting everyone, and I’m so glad I got to save all of you too, but I won’t lie and say that was my first thought. I came to when I thought I could stop Gerard, and then I thought about who else I could save.” 

“You don’t make this easy to be on your side,” Laura frowned. 

“I’m not going to lie just to make it easier. I’ve followed that path before,” Stiles answered with a tight shrug, “I made my choices. I knew when I made them that just because my Derek would say it was worth the cost, making the choice meant that the Derek that was here would probably not share his perspective. So let him go. He’s angry at me, and he’s got a right to that anger.” 

“I still don’t think it’s fair,” she grumbled. 

“I do.” Stiles answered, and they walked over to join her parents. 

Robert was looking through the notes the contractor had left behind and periodically asking Talia questions. 

“I’m glad to see you’re still with us,” Samuel said with a smile that was far too similar to his Derek’s smile. 

“The nemeton isn’t done with him,” Peter said smugly. 

“An idea that makes me nervous, though I am of course happy you’re still here,” Talia added. “The fire inspectors have been here, and the contractor. Both say it’s fine for us to come back home. The fire didn’t damage the structure or the interior at all, just the siding and parts of the porch.” She pulled a sheet from deeper in the stack to answer a question from Robert.

“That’s awesome!” Stiles replied. “Has Deaton been here yet? I really need to talk to him.” 

“Yes, he’s walking the wards currently. Apparently the Darach did quite a number on them.” 

“Ok, should I go track him down then?” 

“Stay here for a bit, there’s some things I’d like to go over with you first if we can,” Talia replied.

“Alright.” 

“Let’s go inside and have a seat.” 

“I feel very managed right now,” Stiles murmured to Laura who laughed. 

“Get used to it,” she said, and Robert looked up and smiled quickly in agreement.

Everyone except Robert filed into the house, and Stiles got a close up view of the damage in the daylight. Like Talia had said, it was fairly light on the body of the house, the brunt of the damage being on the wraparound porch. They all trooped into the dining room and took places around the table. Laura herded him into a chair next to her and Peter plopped down in the seat on the other side. Once everyone was sitting Talia took one of the legal pads in front of her and a pen. 

Stiles caught the moment she glanced at Samuel who gave her a smile, and Stiles wondered if she was nervous. He’d never thought of her as being just another person trying to muddle through the best she could. Derek and Deaton had always mythologized her and made her seem larger than life, an alpha above. But he realized that probably wasn’t the reality. She was an alpha yes, but she was also mortal. And she’d had an enormous blow to her confidence the day before, when he’d appeared.

She took a deep breath, “So Peter and I were talking this morning, and he told me about his offer. I’d like to expand on that a bit. We want you here, not just because of yesterday, but because of everything in here.” She tapped on a pile of what he assumed was his outline of all the things that happened in his timeline. “There are things that need to be fixed and I think you want to fix them. Peter thinks this is why the nemeton wants you here.” 

Stiles nodded, not sure where this was going. “Yeah, there’s some things I want to take care of, I mean, besides Gerard.” 

“So here’s what I’d like to offer, for obvious reasons you didn’t come prepared for a life here. Peter is getting your legal documents, but that’s not going to fix your need to a place to live and everything else, not right away. I want you to let us pay for that. If you want to live here at the house you’re more than welcome, but Peter told me he thinks you’d probably prefer a place of your own. If so, we’ll get that set up. If you want to go to school, we’ll cover the costs and in fact, we’d like you to consider going to New York with Laura this fall.” 

Stiles stiffened in his seat, a little stunned. 

“This isn’t just as a thank you,” Samuel added, breaking his usual silence. “We’ve been worried about her going off alone, and had already talked about someone going with her already. Now we know Gerard is out there still, we’re even more motivated to send someone else. You don’t need to decide right away. But I do hope you’ll consider it.” 

“Okay, yeah, we can talk about that. And I’d probably prefer a place of my own if that’s possible. I’m not used to a lot of people. It was just my dad and me for a long time, then just me the last few months,” Stiles said. “But Peter and I have an agreement about him paying me, so what you spend on me, I want to pay it back.” 

A flicker of irritation moved briefly over Talia’s face and he heard Peter chuckle beside him. “Alright, we can do that. But I want you to let us cover your schooling. It’s too late to apply for this fall, but if you decide to go with Laura then we’ll help you get everything lined up for spring admission, or the following year. And money you spend on things like chasing down Argent, that benefit the pack you won’t be paying back.” 

“Alright, I can accept that,” Stiles said, and he thought of the keys in his pocket. “There’s a place I’d like to check out. I know it had been empty for awhile, but I’m not sure how long.” 

Talia nodded. “We’ll need to get you a car of your own soon enough, but for now I think Peter is planning to let you borrow one of his.” 

Stiles turned to him, “This isn’t one of your ridiculously expensive cars is it? Because I doubt that was just a ‘my timeline’ thing.” 

Peter laughed. “No, the cars have been a thing for a very long time. But there’s a couple that I think you’ll be ok with.” 

“Ok. Then yeah. I guess yes to all of that.” 

“Well that was easier than I anticipated,” Peter replied dryly.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m aware that I’m going to need help for awhile. Of the things I thought to bring with me, winning Powerball numbers weren’t on the list. But I don’t want to, you know, take advantage either. Like, I know you’re offering and all, but I can’t just accept it and feel ok.” 

“Stiles, I understand you have your pride. But we’re reasonably well off.” 

Stiles snorted, and stared at her. “Okay, so that’s a lie, no need to downplay, let’s be real.” 

Talia gave him a strange look. “What do you mean?” 

“After Peter died, my Peter I mean, Derek changed his will. So for a couple of weeks after he died I was, you know, his heir. And that was after the vault got emptied, so I know it’s not a burden on you.” He paused, then continued, “But taking it is a burden on me. If that makes sense?” 

Talia smiled. “It does make sense.” 

“Okay cool. I mean, and if you want to invite me to dinner and stuff, I’ll come. I want to get to know everyone, and everyone else I know is like 8.” 

“I expect you for dinner every night,” Talia said. “No lonely bachelor pad existence for you.” 

“I guess I’ll forgo the Batman suit I was already planning to buy.” 

“Peter will get you set up with a bank account and a credit card as well. We can set up an appointment every month if you like, to go over things and see what classifies as items we’ll accept you paying back and what we won’t.” 

“Yeah, ok. That works,” Stiles said, as Samuel excused himself to go rejoin Robert, who signaled he had further questions about the contractors notes.

“Good, that was all easy. Deaton should be finishing up about now, shall we walk out and meet him?” Talia asked. 

“Yep, for sure.” He added, “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about anyway, this is a good opportunity.” 

He smiled at Peter and Laura as he stood up and then he and Talia headed for the side door where he’d confronted Julia the night before. He noticed that the aching in his muscles was gone, and decided it had probably been just overtiredness from the previous few weeks of frantic activity, or else some kind of intertemporal jet lag. 

As they passed into the woods Talia asked, “So what did you want to talk about?” 

“Can they hear us?” Stiles said quietly.

“We should be out of earshot now.”

He made a face, “So you read my notes. And there’s things in there I didn’t really say. Because there’s a lot of things I didn’t know,” he started. 

“Something to do with me?” 

“You and Peter,” he said quietly, “About Malia.” 

“So you do know who she is,” Talia said calmly. “I wondered. You didn’t mention anything about Peter. And you just called her Malia Tate. Even when you talked about her mother, you didn’t really say much.” 

“I thought there might be a reason,” Stiles replied. “But I couldn’t figure it out, and my Peter wasn’t always the best source.” 

“You know I took his memories though?” she asked.

“Yeah. But I didn’t understand why.” 

She walked quietly for a few minutes before replying. “I love my brother. He’s brilliant, passionate, and, though this might surprise you, he’s surprisingly loyal.” She paused, “on the flip side, none of what became surprised me. Because he is also manipulative, cruel, and deceitful when he wants to be. He seems to like you, which is surprising since you’re a human. But you’ve done something few have dared, you’ve tried to remake time, and that’s something he’d find remarkable in anyone. And the favoritism he thinks the nemeton has shown you also clouds his opinion. I have my own theory on why you’re still here, and I don’t think the nemeton has anything to do with it. But the version of my brother you bring out is the one I love, so I won’t argue with his interpretation.” 

“What does this have to do with Malia?” he finally asked. 

“You know what her mother is like. And if you know Peter was almost as bad in his youth, what would you do? Turn a child over to him, or take away his memory and hide her with a family where she might have a normal upbringing?” 

“And you didn’t keep her in the family in case the Desert Wolf came looking for her.” 

Talia sniffed, “Corinne is always watching, searching for Malia. But she thinks we hid Malia with one of our allied packs, not that we’d put her with a good human home. She doesn’t deserve the word ‘wolf’ in that silly made up name.” 

Stiles laughed. “Okay, I guess that all makes sense. Do you think your dying in my timeline helped her figure it out, or will she still come for Malia here?” 

“I just have to guess about events in your timeline, but my guess is that when Malia wasn’t brought back to the Hale fold when the pack was almost destroyed, Corinne started to look further afield. It may be time to do something permanent about Corinne anyway. I’m sure the Calaveras would not be opposed to a temporary alliance to end her, and with the Argents weakened right now, the Calaveras will seek advantages.” 

“You seem pretty in the know about the hunters,” Stiles replied. 

“There’s an old saying about keeping your enemies closer that applies.”

They came around an outcropping of rocks and saw Deaton ahead, where he knelt over one of the warding stones sunk into the ground. In his own time Stiles had walked the boundary with Deaton many times, but as they grew closer, he could see the stone was cracked and he was impressed with Jennifer-Julia’s power all over again. There were other ways to neutralize a wardstone, but using brute force to break one was an extraordinary show of force. 

“Hey Deat,” Stiles said, forgetting for a moment the man wouldn’t know him. 

Deaton looked up at him warily. “You must be Stiles.” 

“Yep that’s me. And apparently I managed to screw up the whole changing the future thing, ‘cause still here.” Stiles said nervously. 

“Peter is convinced that you sacrificing your friend on the nemeton and tying it into your rite bound you to it, and that’s why you’re still here.” 

Stiles shrugged, “Peter and I disagree about that,” he replied. “I assume I screwed something up. Probably because Gerard is still alive.” 

“We know of other people who have changed their timelines, a few. I would guess there are others. But I don’t know of any records that list when they disappeared, it’s certainly not my specialty. If there are, then they’re likely in private diaries. The spell is obscure and costly enough that I can’t imagine it’s done more than once or twice in a century.” 

Stiles felt a momentary warmth of affection for those previous travelers. He wondered what they had come back to fix, and if it had worked. 

“How many of the wardstones did she break?” he asked, looking back down at the heavy stone sunk in the ground.

“All of them,” Deaton replied.

“Wait. There’s over 100 of them!” 

“Indeed. I can’t imagine how powerful she must have been. And yet you handled her quite easily.” 

“My magic reacted very strange. I was reaching for my spark because she was about to shoot me, and there’s a spell I’d been learning to jam a gun. And it like exploded out of me.” 

Deaton gave him a familiar expressionless look that had always driven him crazy. “That’s not how sparks work, Stiles. They require structure and will to be effective.” 

“Yes, I know, and that’s why I’m telling you. It did something else.” 

“Describe to me, in detail, what happened,” Deaton ordered.

Talia’s face had grown still, and she stepped over to examine the cracked wardstone. Stiles explained about what happened with the ash line, then Jennifer-Julia, and again when he went to remove Kate’s blood. 

“That doesn’t sound like any power I’ve ever heard of,” Deaton mused. “I know Peter thinks the nemeton has kept you here for a reason, and there have been Sparks that were bound to a particular world tree during their life, but even the connected power still just deepens the existing spark, and sometimes shortens their life. What you describe sounds like an innate power, like a supernatural would have.” 

“I’ve never had anything like that before,” Stiles replied. “Could it be connected to the time travel?” 

“Possibly. We don’t know why you’re still here, so it could easily all be of a piece.” 

“Stiles, would you feel comfortable demonstrating your power?” Talia asked. “I was going to bury Kate this afternoon, but a more permanent disappearance could be helpful.” 

“Sure,” Stiles replied. “I can feel the whatever it is still.” 

“Alan, I assume you’ll join us?” 

“Of course,” Deaton replied, and they started walking back towards the house. 

“How long will it take to produce new wards for the estate?” Talia asked while they walked.

“I’ll need a month, a full moon cycle, to forge them, then a few days to install.” 

“Are you going to keep with the basic Wardstone or switch to a Layton style?” Stiles asked. 

“A Layton configuration would take longer and require a second spellcaster,” Deaton replied. “Plus, tying the wards to the currents creates the potential for interference.” 

“Sure,” Stiles said. “But the standard configuration is easier to break through the way Jennifer-Julia did. She’d have to have found the nemeton to break a Layton configuration, since that’s where the currents cross.” 

“You think I should tie them to both currents, not just one?” Deaton replied, actual curiosity shifting his expression.

“Well yeah, the you in my timeline taught me how to balance the lines against each other to reduce the potential for interference.” 

“If you could do it, I suppose it would make interference harder. The Layton wards are more robust, but the need for a constant power source makes them fairly impractical in most situations.” 

“Dude, you have four crossover points of telluric currents here, one of which can actually hide itself. Take advantage of that,” Stiles replied. 

“And future me was on board with this?” Deaton asked. 

“Well, after Jennifer came through in our timeline yes. The house was gone of course, so you’d only replaced these wards with proximity wards. But after Jennifer, the conversation came up. It wasn’t until after the pack started to, you know, when we started to lose them, that we finally perfected how to balance them, but we never placed them.” 

“Let’s continue this conversation later,” Talia said, “I’d like to hear more about the options. For now-“ she pointed.

Kate’s body lay on a tarp and Stiles didn’t feel anything but relief to see her dead. The discolored flesh where the blood had settled and the blanched, mottled skin suited her he thought, making her inner ugliness visible to everyone. 

Deaton stopped beside Talia. “Are you sure about this Mr. Stilinski? We don’t know precisely what you’re dealing with, so perhaps it’s too early to be experimenting with it.” 

Stiles snorted. “I already used it twice last night, if it’s dangerous to us, then we’re already in trouble.”

Deaton did his annoying blank-faced head tilt, and Stiles looked at Talia, “But maybe step back a bit just in case?” She smiled and gripped his shoulder for a moment, before she stepped back a few feet to watch. 

Deaton knelt and inscribed a complex ward into the ground in quick easy steps. Stiles couldn’t quite identify what it was, besides being designed to aid his human eyes in perceiving the supernatural power around him more distinctly. When the Druid pricked his thumb and let a couple drops of blood drip into the center of a temporary ward, Stiles actually felt the ward flare to life, a sensitivity he’d never had before. Deaton glanced up at Stiles and said, “When you’re ready.” 

Stiles nodded and took a deep breath as he reached inside for that feeling he’d brushed up against earlier. The rage and power flared to life and he let the breath out slowly, looking back down at Kate. After a couple of seconds he willed the power to treat her as it had Julia, and just as easy as that, it roared into being, quickly and hungrily consuming her and the tarp, and just as quickly it disappeared, leaving behind the same sparkling coating of fine dust.

Deaton looked deeply troubled as he dismissed the ward, and used his foot to sweep away the remains of the spell. 

“What are you thinking, Alan?” Talia said, as she stepped forward. 

“I’m not sure. Whatever you’re using, it’s not your spark. It’s not even really magic as we define it, which has order and structure. There was a brief moment when I could sense your spark activate, right at the beginning, but whatever the power that followed, it looks like a void to my magic sight.” 

The word ‘void’ made Stiles’ gut clench, and Talia shot him a worried look, but he shook his head while glancing down and subtly counting his fingers.

“It appeared strange to my alpha sight too,” Talia said. “I could see the blue and black flash, but I’m not sure how to describe it. It didn’t flow quite like fire. It seemed more substantial, almost like water.” 

“Black and blue?” Deaton said, looking at her keenly. “You’re sure?” 

“Yes. Why, did you see something different?” 

“I didn’t see anything at all really, just a void as I said.” He paused, looking directly at Stiles, “and for a moment, when I glanced at your eyes I saw that same absence of anything.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pdxtrent says:  
I have no good excuses for why this was later posting than I intended, other than chapter 12 of ‘The Call of the Night’ has been a pain to write, and I may have fallen down a well of a 270k word unfinished work that consumed my soul.  
The end of this chapter was one of those scenes that popped into my mind as I was about to fall asleep and I knew if I didn’t write it down that I’d never capture it as well after. So I actually knew more than just an idea of where this chapter ended, which was weird.  
As always your kudos and comments give me motivation. And I love hearing where you think things are going. Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

The road towards Beacon Hills passed by outside the car as Stiles looked away to avoid talking to Peter. Deaton’s description haunted him and he wasn’t ready to talk about it quite yet, and unlike in his own time, Peter seemed to understand that. After he got back to the house, Peter offered to take him by his penthouse to pick up a car, and Stiles, happy for any reason to get away while he processed, was quick to agree. 

The drive had been full of silence while the nogitsune’s cruel memories played in the back of his head, and he reached up to touch the kanji ‘self’ tattoo like a touchstone. Deaton’s comments had brought his darkest fears about what had happened into the light. He’d successfully suppressed and ignored the memories since the demon had split itself apart from him, but since using the strange new power he’d found them harder to ignore. He wondered if he’d inadvertently opened a new doorway to the demon by accepting some part of the creature’s legacy. Finally he took a deep breath, dropped his hand, and turned back to Peter. 

“My Deaton once said that the pack had a fairly extensive magical library at the house. Do you think Talia would let me look at it?” 

Peter nodded. “I’m guessing this has to do with whatever Alan said that has you upset?” 

“Yeah. It’s not really what he said. I just-“ He paused, putting his thoughts together before continuing, “something he said has brought up memories I didn’t want to deal with, and I need to figure out a few things.” 

“And I assume you still don’t want to talk about it?”

“Not yet. I wish-“ and Stiles stopped, about to say he wished Noshiko was around to talk to, but then realized she was. “There is actually someone I may want to talk to. Not here, I’ll need to find her.” 

“Do you need help tracking her down?”

“No. I actually know where to find her and how to get in touch. First I need to do some research though.” 

“Check the books I have at the penthouse as well, unless you’ve already seen those.” 

“I’m not sure. I’m familiar with everything that was in the vault, and the books Deaton had in my timeline. But I’m not sure where those came from.” 

“Most of what's in the vault is the rarer or more outdated books. Well, and some that are really dangerous like the one where you found that spell. Most of the bestiaries and pack histories are at the house though.” 

“How would I find out more about the ones before me?” Stiles asked. “The ones that came back I mean. Everyone says that there’s evidence, but the book only referenced a couple, and from a long time ago.” 

“I can ask among the packs, Deaton can reach out through the emissary network as well. I assume the information exists, but finding it might be tricky.” 

“Can you try?” 

“Of course. Do you want to talk to Alan, or shall I?” 

“I will. There’s a couple of his books I’ll want to double check anyway. But not today. I just need to get away from it all right now.” 

“When was the last time there wasn’t an emergency going on in your life?” Peter asked. “From your notes it looks like it’s been almost constant.” 

Stiles thought for a moment. “There was a few months of senior year. Before that, I guess probably not since before Scott was changed.” 

“Have you seen someone?” 

“Like a therapist?” 

“You’ve been through a lot.” 

Stiles snorted. “Deaton’s sister for a bit during my junior year. Until it turned out she was the emissary for the alpha pack. Therapy hasn’t been on my mind. Like, how do I explain being possessed, almost getting murdered, the actual murders. Jesus my life is a hellscape when you say it out loud.” 

“I believe Satomi’s emissary might have a good option for you. There’s a therapist she mentioned once about a pack matter who’s in the know.” 

“Maybe.” Stiles answered. “I probably should talk to someone, I’m pretty fucked up.” 

“I suspect you’re doing pretty well considering everything you’ve been through,” Peter replied. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I think that’s the definition of damning with faint praise when you actually do consider everything I’ve been through. I mean, just being alive is quite a surprise.” 

“Cautious praise perhaps, not faint.” 

“Pedant,” Stiles muttered.

Peter laughed and didn’t reply as they continued on in a lighter silence than before. 

  
  


“Absolutely not,” Stiles said looking at the sleek lines of the sports car. “Do you have anything normal?” 

Peter sighed. “I suppose there’s always Ginger.” 

“Ginger?” 

“Robert’s old Jeep.” Peter walked towards the back of the garage and after a moment Stiles followed him. 

In the back was a covered vehicle with vaguely familiar lines. As they drew close, Peter pulled the cover off the Jeep. The strange tightness in Stiles’ chest loosened when he saw the red Wrangler. “Yes.” Stiles said, reaching out and putting his hand on it. “Yes.” It wasn’t his mom’s old CJ5, but he wasn’t that Stiles anymore. 

“It might need a tune up. No one has driven it in a couple of months. But the keys should be in it.” 

Stiles nodded. “Thank you,” he said simply. 

“Thank Robert. I’ve really just been storing it here since he bought the truck.” 

“And he’ll be okay with me taking it?” 

“He’ll probably be delighted. Do you want to come up and check out the books?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, taking one more glance at the Jeep before walking away after Peter.

  
  


The old building looked different than Stiles remembered. But the door still opened with Derek’s old keys, and Stiles bypassed the elevator since the electricity was out, and climbed the stairs to the seventh floor. The building felt abandoned in a way he didn’t remember. Derek hadn’t had time to renovate and rent out many of the units, but the building had never been completely unoccupied in Stiles’ memory, though he’d kept the top floor empty for privacy and to protect his tenants from anyone who might be after him.

The door to Derek’s loft slid open, and Stiles walked in. It was cold and dark, the windows grimier than Stiles had ever seen. Detritus littered the floor. He’d always mocked Derek for the gloom, but it felt even emptier now. And yet, it also felt comfortable. A memory of a time that would never be now. He paused in the spot where a future Boyd wouldn’t die, and a rush of satisfaction filled him. Yeah, this felt right. He’d talk to Peter about making an offer, if the owner was willing to sell it to Derek in a few years he’d probably be open to selling it now, and he’d already talked to Peter about the possibility. 

Stiles slipped back out the door and down the stairs. He double checked the door locked behind him when he left. 

He got back in Robert’s Jeep, and turned it on. He wasn’t ready to head back to the Hale House yet, he still needed some time away. Peter’s books had been mostly about pack law and pack dynamics, and eventually Stiles knew he’d be interested in reading them. But right now he needed to do something utterly mundane, and he thought for a moment before heading to the grocery store. 

A few minutes later he was happily wandering the aisles with a basket in his hand. Most people hated grocery shopping, but Stiles found grocery stores weirdly pleasant. He’d learned basic cooking skills after his mom died, in the months that his dad had been drinking away his grief. Melissa had seen the problem, and before it had turned into something his dad couldn’t come back from she’d intervened. 

He wasn’t shopping for anything specific, so he pulled out the phone and called Talia.

“Stiles?” she said, answering at once.

“Yeah. I needed to get away for a bit and I’m wandering around the grocery store, anything you’d like me to grab?” 

“I think we’re fairly stocked up with everything since I knew I’d have a houseful this weekend with the full moon and my birthday, are you okay for cash?” 

“Yeah, Peter gave me some to get me through until everything is set up.” 

“Okay, we’ll see you when you get back here then.”

“Yep, I’ll be there in a bit,” Stiles said as he hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket. He went back to examining the cereal choices until a few minutes later he heard a small and familiar voice. 

“You should get Lucky Charms,” little Stiles said from behind him. 

“Is that so?” Stiles said with a smile. “Is that what you’re getting?” 

“No, dad says it’s too much sugar. I’m getting Cheerios.” 

Behind him dad said, “Stiles.” 

Both Stiles turned and looked at the obviously exhausted Deputy Stilinski. 

“Oh, hello again Stuart,” Dad said, reminding Stiles who he was here. 

“Hi deputy,” Stiles replied. 

“I’m helping Stuart pick out his cereal!” little Stiles said happily. 

“Did Stuart ask you for help?” 

“Yes?” little Stiles said looking up at Stiles. 

“Well, I think it can be inferred from my just staring blankly at the wall of choices that I needed help at least.” Stiles said still smiling. 

Dad sighed. “Stiles c'mon. Let’s get the rest of these groceries.” 

“Thanks for your help little guy!” Stiles said holding out his hand to give little Stiles a high five.

Little Stiles grinned and returned the gesture. 

“Have a good evening deputy,” Stiles said to his dad. 

“You too Stuart.” His dad walked away with little Stiles who paused to look back and wave at him. Stiles smiled and gave him a thumbs up back. 

Surprisingly, the brief encounter with his younger self and his father had calmed him down. Not completely, but enough for him to lose most of the terror he’d been feeling. The relief settled in. He thought for a moment about anchors, about that long and heart-breakingly hopeful conversation he’d had with his Derek not long after Monroe was finally dealt with, when the man had admitted that Stiles had been his anchor since before his possession by the nogitsune, and it clicked into place suddenly for him. He’d understood anchors in theory, but now he finally started to really feel how something could serve as an external anchor. He wished his Derek was here to share it with, and suddenly he was overcome with a fresh wave of grief over all he’d lost. 

He’d never been a hugely social person. He’d been content with his close friendship with Scott for years before slowly, in the wake of Scott’s transformation, he’d grown better at allowing new people into his life. But the effects of losing his mother so young had kept the circle of those who truly mattered to him very small. His dad most importantly. Scott, always. Derek, perhaps most unexpectedly. Lydia as well, though not in the way he’d thought for so long. Heather. Tara. Melissa and Malia. 

He grabbed the Lucky Charms and then gathered a few of his favorite snack foods and a six pack of Coke and headed for the register. He was placing everything on the conveyer when his dad and little Stiles got in line behind him. He saw his dad look over the items Stiles had grabbed and shake his head. “It’s like you let my son loose with a basket,” he said wryly, and Stiles’ heart clenched tightly. 

“Well, I’ve got to take advantage of eating crap while I’m still young,” Stiles said with a smirk.

“Hopefully Peter makes you eat a vegetable every now and then.” 

“Naw, But Talia is a believer in the healthy food lifestyle, so I just needed some snacks to fuel my all night research binges.” 

“What school are you attending?” his dad asked politely as they waited for the cashier to finish up with the woman in line ahead of them.

“I’m not right now, I’m taking a gap year to deal with some things, but it’s looking like it will be NYU unless something changes.” 

“That’s a good school.”

“Where’s NYU?” little Stiles asked, looking up from the package he’d been reading intently. 

“It’s in New York, son,” Dad replied. 

“Like where grandma and grandpa live?” 

His dad smiled, “Exactly.” 

Stiles felt another stab of loss, as he thought about the deaths of his elderly grandparents again in just a couple years. His mom’s father was going to have a massive heart attack and his grandmother would follow less than a year later leaving his dad’s deeply abusive father the only grandparent still alive. 

“Stuart, where do your grandparents live?” little Stiles asked up at him. 

Stiles smiled weakly, “They’ve all passed on,” he said looking down.

“Oh.” little Stiles said quietly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” his dad said, the shadow of his own loss clear to Stiles who knew him so well.

“It’s been a long time,” Stiles replied, as the cashier finally started ringing him up. He turned to answer her ‘paper or plastic?’ question and then handed over one of the 50s that Peter had given him. “Anyway, it was good to see you again D- Deputy. Later Stiles!” he said to them as he grabbed his bag.

“Bye Stuart!” little Stiles said loudly.

“Have a good afternoon Stuart,” his dad said with a nod.

Stiles smiled and walked towards the exit. Just as he left the store his phone rang and he paused to pull it out and saw the unknown but local number and answered. “Hello?”

“Stiles?” He recognized the voice immediately as Deaton’s. 

“Deaton, what’s up?” 

“Peter called and asked about locating some more information about previous travelers. I know that my sister Marin has a history of working with a pack in London who has a very large collection, but I wanted to check and see if we had reached out to them in your timeline already?” 

“Do you mean the Maccon Pack? In London?” 

“Yes, you know them?”

“Of, mostly. Jackson went to them after he left Beacon Hills.” 

“They have an extraordinary library, had you contacted them before?” 

“There were-“ Stiles paused, “complications with Morrell in our time so we weren’t really able to use her connections then so, no.” 

“Interesting. At some time I’d like to talk to you about that.” 

“For sure. And Deaton, when you talk to them, can you ask them about anything they might have on nogitsune as well?” 

“Is this about your power?” Deaton replied. 

“Yeah, plus there’s one trapped here that will need to be dealt with.” 

“Your possession. Yes, I have a great many questions about that.” 

“You and me both,” Stiles replied. Across the parking lot a loud conversation caught his attention. A man and a woman were standing outside their car with matching expressions of fury. “Hey, Deaton, can I let you go? I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can talk.” 

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow,” the vet replied and disconnected. Stiles slipped his phone into his pocket as he watched the couple. There was something in the man’s stance that caught his eye, something off. Behind him he heard the doors open. 

“Stuart!” little Stiles said excitedly, “you’re still here!” 

“Hey Stiles,” he said, and then looked up at his dad who was already tracking the argument.

“Do you have your badge?” Stiles asked his dad.

“Always.” 

Across the parking lot the woman was yelling and crying and the man was growing red faced, and his dad pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. 

“I’ll keep an eye on Stiles so you can go,” Stiles said. 

Noah glanced at him and gave him a long look before nodding and then speaking into the phone “Tara, it’s Noah. There’s a four one five in progress in the Safeway parking lot, can you send a uniform over?” 

Stiles had resumed watching the couple as his dad talked to Tara, and a wave of nostalgia overtook him, even while he stayed focused on the fighting couple. He saw the moment the guy’s weight shifted and he turned before the guy even raised his hand. “Go!” he said to his father as he reached for the man’s grocery bag. 

“Two Four Zero in progress,” his dad said and he started toward the couple as the man’s hand connected with her face. He turned briefly to little Stiles, “Stay here son.” 

Stiles reached out his hand to little Stiles who looked at it for a moment before taking it and he led him the few feet to a bench outside the doors. Stiles sat close, eyes watching his father unblinkingly. 

“He’ll be okay,” Stiles said to little Stiles as they watched their dad in action.

“You can’t know that,” little Stiles said. 

Stiles paused. He remembered how much he’d hated people doing that to him as a kid. This event was new, he had no memory of this trip to the store, but he remembered other occasions. “You’re right, I can’t. But backup is on the way, and if that guy reaches for a weapon he’ll have to pick between me and your dad on who he’s going to shoot.” 

Stiles resumed watching intently as his dad got the man on the ground and in the distance he could hear sirens approaching. Within a few minutes it was all over. A deputy he remembered but who had left a couple of years after his dad became sheriff to move to Arizona, and Gary Clarke who’d died in the nogitsune’s bombing of the sheriff’s department had pulled in and taken over for their dad. 

“He’s safe,” little Stiles said quietly. 

“He is,” Stiles replied. 

“Would you really have done that?” little Stiles asked. 

Stiles looked at his younger self and said fiercely, “There’s nothing I won’t do to keep your dad safe.” 

Little Stiles gave him a look that was equal parts hope and suspicion but didn’t say anything. 

Stiles reached into his bag and pulled out a Kit Kat, breaking off half he handed it to little Stiles who took it and smiled, “Thank you Stuart.” 

“You’re welcome buddy,” Stiles said smiling back. They munched on their candy as they watched the deputies work. 

A few minutes later their dad came back over. Both Stiles stood up as he got close, and little Stiles rushed over to hug his father tightly while Stiles let his eyes track back to the patrol car with the guy in the back who was watching them with a look of fury on his face. Stiles tried to channel his Derek at his most terrifying as he stared back. After a moment the guy looked uncomfortable and then turned away. Satisfied, Stiles turned back and handed his dad's grocery bag back to him.

“Thank you for that,” he said. 

Stiles shrugged, “No problem. It’s literally the least I could do.” 

His dad eyed him closely, a strange look in his eyes. 

“What?” Stiles asked.

“I think I underestimated you,” his dad replied. “Most people would freeze in an unfamiliar situation like that. But you didn’t, and you didn’t try to rush in and be a hero in a volatile situation. Have you thought about becoming a cop? You have good instincts.” 

Stiles was quiet for a moment, trying to decide how he wanted to deal with this, before deciding the truth, or a version of it, was the best route. Considering how often he’d lied to his father in his own timeline the irony struck him as apt. “My Dad was a cop,” he finally said. “So he taught me to observe, and the right way to react.” No need to mention that three years of being terrorized by supernatural monsters and psychopathic monster hunters had cured him of any desire to be a hero. 

“He can be proud of how you reacted today,” Dad said seriously, clearly catching the ‘was’ that Stiles had used and guessing what it meant.

“I’m sure he is,” Stiles said, meaning it. He’d never doubted his father’s pride in him, once he’d found out about the supernatural and Stiles had stopped lying about things. The last year, while they were dealing with Monroe, he’d grown even closer to him, until suddenly he was gone. “I should go. I know Talia is expecting me back at the house for dinner.” 

“You’re not staying with Peter?” his dad replied. 

Well fuck, Stiles thought to himself. “No,” he said, mind racing. “I’m doing some research at the house right now, so it’s easier to stay there, close to the family library. I saw Peter earlier today.” 

His dad nodded, looking at him closely, “Well drive safely headed back through the Preserve.” 

“Will do, thank you deputy.” 

“Please call me Noah.” 

Well that wasn’t awkward. “Noah.” Stiles said, the word feeling very uncomfortable on his tongue. He looked down to where little Stiles was still clinging to his dad's leg. “Later little buddy,” he said fondly. 

“Bye Stuart. Thank you.” 

“Anytime buddy, anytime,” Stiles turned back to walk over to the Jeep and jump in. A few minutes later he was headed towards the Preserve and the Hales.

Dinner with the Hales was a loud though more subdued affair than the night before, since it was only Talia, Samuel, and the kids along with Peter. He sat between Laura and Peter, and both could tell he wasn’t really up for conversation, though he kept catching Derek looking at him from across the table, but he’d look away every time Stiles caught his eye. Talia mentioned the plans for the second run at her birthday celebration the next afternoon, and that the whole pack would be back over. 

After dinner Laura talked him into helping her clean up and wash the dishes, and lost himself in the torrent of back and forth excited chatter and finally started to relax again. It felt shockingly domestic in a way he hadn’t felt in months. 

He stopped Talia when she came back into the kitchen as he was finishing up with Laura and said, “Alpha Hale, I have a question.” 

“Stiles, it’s Talia, please.” 

“Right, yeah. Anyway, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to do some research in your library this evening?” 

She nodded, “Of course. I’ll show you where it is.” 

She led him up the stairs to the second floor to an area that was above the kitchen and dining rooms, a huge open room with shelves on three walls and heavy upholstered chairs scattered around, as well as a long wide table with several chairs off to one side near the windows.

“Wow,” Stiles said looking around. “This is a serious library.” 

“I’m assuming you’re wanting to research something non-mundane?” Talia said with a slight smile.

“Yeah, I’m worried about this power. I’m afraid that this might be a result of the nogitsune.” 

“I could tell something was bothering you,” Talia replied. “And I thought it might be something to do with that.” She looked around. “So you know, this room is soundproof, like the rest of the house. It’s not completely effective, but unless someone is trying to listen in, you can assume some degree of privacy on the second and third floors. Let me grab my keys and I’ll show you where we keep the interesting books.” She grinned broadly again and headed back for the stairs.

She led him back to the main floor and paused while she dug in her purse and grabbed her keys, then she led him to the stairs he remembered from his own time that led down to the basement. 

Talia gave him an unreadable look, and he wondered what she had scented from him. In his own timeline he’d always been uncomfortable in the basement, knowing how many people had died there trying to escape the fire. She led him around to the back wall of the basement where he knew the tunnel leading out into the Preserve was hidden, but turned instead to the other end of the wall, slid her key into a bit of what he had thought was only decoration, and then pushed it open. 

The hidden door opened into a surprisingly small and cramped room full of books. 

“It’s best to keep things like this discrete. We keep the more mundane library upstairs, but the books you want are probably down here.” She said after a moment, “The kids have friends from school over occasionally, or if someone were to break in it’s best these be hidden.” 

“Does Deaton know it’s here?” 

“No, he knows it exists of course, but he rarely comes to the house. Most alphas prefer to keep their emissary and their pack separate, so the emissary can advise without being prejudiced by their own opinions of pack members. Laura has met him of course, and Peter. My father as well, though he has little use for him.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, because she’d brought up the subject so he suspected she had a reason. 

“It’s complicated. And a long story though relevant, I think, to your timeline. Maybe not today, but we’ll talk about it soon, okay?” 

“Sure,” he said as he started looking through the shelves. “Holy shit,” he said, “you have ‘Los Hijos de la Luna’, we looked for a copy for like a year my sophomore year.”

“Because of the kanima?” 

“Yeah. There’s not a lot of material on them, and I didn’t want to trust the Argent’s bestiary for everything.” 

“That’s wise. Hunters are mostly interested in how to kill what they see as monstrous.” 

Stiles pulled out ‘Spirituum ad Orientalem Fraudulentus’ and opened it. Nodded and kept moving along the shelf. Pausing he pulled out a much newer volume, “Is this an English language bestiary?” 

“Of a sort. It’s a survey book done about 50 years ago by a Raven Woman. It’s about the native supernatural creatures of North America and how they’ve adapted to the influx of supernaturals from elsewhere. There’s a section on the kanima in there as well.” 

“So all the answers were right here,” Stiles said with a sigh. 

“Some of them at least,” Talia said. “Did you figure out what bloodline of kanima yours was?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The kanima. There’s several varieties. The bite can activate the power but they have to have the right bloodline to become a kanima.” 

“Deaton said-“ Stiles paused. “No, it wasn’t Deaton who said that. Fucking Derek anyway.” 

“Derek? You were depending on Derek’s knowledge of the supernatural? He was 16 when the fire happened.” 

“He was the best help we had,” Stiles said simply.

“And Alan?” she replied, “Wasn’t he helpful to you? That’s what an emissary is for.” 

Stiles sighed and stepped away from the shelf and looked at Talia. “At times, yes, especially once Scott became an alpha. I didn’t realize it until later but I think-“ he paused. “Okay, this is just my own opinion based on bits and pieces of things. But I think Deaton blamed Derek for the Fire.” 

Talia looked horrified. “But he should have known what she was like.” 

“He did. He helped me put together the chain of her victims. Some he knew about before I even met him, some we found through police records later on. I don't think his feelings were rational, I’m not even sure he thought they were. And I mean, Derek was a total asshole the first time they met, but yeah.” 

Talia was silent for a moment, her eyes deeply troubled. Finally she spoke, “An emissary and an alpha, it can be an incredibly close bond. In some less traditional packs they even marry, but that’s never been my family’s way. And I don’t think it’s wise. I’m not a traditionalist by any stretch, but I do think an emissary needs a degree of disconnection from the pack to advise wisely.” 

She paused again and then restarted, “The history of this territory is the history of the nemeton. Our pack grew in its shadow and it was the highest honor to be an emissary here. But something happened around 80 years ago. A corruption of the nemeton. It began to poison the territory, not physically, but magically, and it affected the emissaries. The stronger they were the faster it would corrupt them. My father’s emissary was convinced that the only way to save the territory was to kill the nemeton. Eventually he cut it down, but it only made things worse.”

“So when you picked Deaton,” Stiles replied, putting it all together, “you weren’t picking him for ability.”

“Just the opposite.” 

“Jesus.” 

“I would prefer that this not be common knowledge,” Talia added.

“I can see why. Yeah, nothing good comes of sharing that.” 

“I’ll leave you the key, just lock up when you’re done.” 

“Thank you,” Stiles said, then added, “for the library and your honesty.” 

Talia nodded her head and handed over the key, and then she went back up the stairs.

  
  


The library was blissfully silent, and he was undisturbed as he read back and forth through a dozen different books he’d brought upstairs with him. He learned about the life cycle of the different kanima, and their evolutions. But each book brought up new memories of his own, and a myriad of the nogitsune’s memories followed. He had half a dozen legal pads spread across the table, one that was nothing except notes on the monster’s memories as they revealed themselves. 

But the emerging memories slowly pushed his mind into a darker and more volatile state. Some of the fear he’d felt earlier returned, plus the revulsion he experienced over some of the recollection.

Long after midnight, the unfamiliar memories were still unfurling in his mind when the door to the library ticked open catching Stiles attention. He glanced over and saw Derek slip just inside the room, and the memories receded from his attention. Derek leaned against the wall inside the doorway, arms folded and tense. 

“Did you want to stare or talk?” Stiles asked after a moment, trying for a note of curiosity instead of confrontation. 

“Laura said-“ Derek started, then paused before continuing on, “She said you came here from the future.” 

Stiles nodded. “Yes. Well, I came here from a future. But my being here changed that future, so now we’re in a different timeline.” 

“Timeline A and Timeline B?” Derek asked. And the sly humor of the way he said it made Stiles think of those days he’d spent years before with a de-aged Derek.

“Sure.”

“And you came here to save us?” Derek added. 

Stiles was quiet for a moment before plunging in with the brutal honest truth. “Not exactly. I came here to kill Gerard. I knew Gerard would be here because I knew about your family. About Kate.” 

“Laura says you knew me in your future.” 

“I do. I did. We were friends. Pack.” 

Derek looked at him closely, then added, “Laura thinks you were in love with me.” 

“It was complicated,” Stiles admitted. “For both of us. We started out hating each other. But he-“ Stiles thought for a moment, “he wasn’t you, you know, and you’re not him. Now you won’t ever be him.” 

“But you loved me, your version of me, even though you knew about her? About what I’d done?” Derek whispered.

Stiles realized that Derek was having a different conversation with him than he’d thought this was, and nodded, “That you’d fallen in love unwisely? I knew. I met her. She was a monster.” 

“I almost got my family killed,” Derek replied. “How did I deal with that? The other me.” 

“First, no you didn’t,” Stiles replied, moving a little closer. “I’ve heard just about everything there is to know about Kate. Stories I’ve heard from you, from her crazy father and her tool of a brother, and even from her. And I’ve talked to other survivors of hers. I’m probably now the world’s foremost expert on Kate Argent’s evil, which since she’s now very very dead is a fairly useless area of expertise.” 

He paused before continuing, “This isn’t on you. She was a virtuoso at this. Wolves older than you got taken in. She was a predator and you were her prey. You weren’t the first, and wouldn’t have been the last.” Stiles had had this conversation with a different Derek multiple times, and his argument was well honed. 

“There were others?” Derek replied. 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. I remember enough that I can probably track down some phone numbers if you’d like to talk to them.” 

He walked back towards the table and sat down on it before continuing, “Everyone died in my timeline. Everyone. You. Scott. My dad. An entire pack you’ll never know. But you’re the one who gave us the key to figuring out what was going on. Your final words.” He scrubbed away the tears that had started seeping down his face. “And I know you trusted me to figure it out, to fix things. And this was the best I could do.”

“What happened?” 

Stiles was silent for a moment, trying to decide how to answer the question. “Too many bad decisions made without sufficient knowledge. Good intentions but the worst results.” 

“So you came back to fix it.”

“To try.” Stiles looked away. “It wasn’t-“ he was silent for a moment. “This wasn’t a rescue attempt, it was supposed to be a suicide mission.” 

Derek grew still, and seemed to get even more tense. “Why?” he finally asked.

“This magic, or maybe the nature of time. Once I changed the past, once I was no longer going to live that life, I shouldn’t have still been here.” 

“But you are still here.” 

“Something seems to have gone wrong,” Stiles said. “I’m trying to figure it out.”

Derek nodded and moved away from the wall and into the room, glancing at the heavy volumes on the table. “Pack history?” 

Stiles shrugged, “There’s a lot you didn’t know, a lot you didn’t remember. All of these were lost in the fire. The copies of the older records in the vault survived, but the last several decades weren’t there.” 

Derek opened a book at random, though clearly wasn’t reading it. “What’s the first thing you remember about me?” he asked finally. 

Stiles smiled. “Oh my god, okay, I only remembered this like a year ago, but do you remember a couple of years ago you went to Cora’s school for a day, to help in one of her classes for some project.” 

Derek nodded. “Sure. I remember that.” 

“I ran into you in the halls, literally ran into you. You caught me as I was falling over. I thought you were going to yell at me or something, but you just made sure I was ok and smiled at me. I was terrified at the time and it stuck with me.” 

Derek nodded. “I remember. You stank of fear.” 

“The second time I saw you was the night of the fire. In my timeline my friend Scott’s mom got called into work at the hospital because of Peter being brought in, and a couple of firefighters got injured, and so she left Scott and me with my dad at the station. He told me afterward that your parents had died in the fire, and it was right after my mom died so it stuck with me.” 

“Where did we go, your Derek and Laura?” 

“New York. I-“ He paused, then continued, “I tried to avoid talking about that time with him. After Laura was killed there was a time when we really hated each other. Like, I accused him of her murder and got him arrested.” Stiles laughed at the horrified look on Derek’s face. “Your face dude.” He shook his head. “It took awhile for both of us to get over the distrust. But we just kept getting thrown together, and finally there was a point when suddenly I trusted him more than anyone besides my dad.” 

“And then he died?” Derek asked.

“A couple of times actually.” 

“Seriously?”

“The first time didn’t take. The second time was a lot more final,” Stiles replied. “But even then he gave me the key to figuring out what was going on. Even when he couldn’t save me again, he did what he could. He always did.” Stiles wiped away the tears that were building up again in his eyes. 

“And so you came here.”

“That’s the cliffnotes version yeah.” 

“So what are you going to do now?” Derek asked. 

“Well, I plan to find Gerard and kill him for good. Maybe with fire for the dramatic irony. Then spread the ashes on 3 or 4 different continents, to make sure he can’t come back. There’s some other things I can get ahead of now. I never thought knowing the future was the best superpower, but yeah, I can see its advantages now.” 

Derek was quiet for a few minutes, idly flipping through one of the pack bestiaries before he looked back up at Stiles. “When I first heard you time traveled to be here I thought it was some trick. I thought, ‘if he came here for me he’d have come back before Paige’.” He looked at Stiles and fell silent.

“I couldn’t fix everything. I was only supposed to have a few minutes here, and then I’d be gone. I know Argent was here then, but the situation between Deucalion and Argent was incredibly precarious, and Derek-“ He paused. “I didn’t know when Paige’s attack was, he wouldn’t talk about her.” He stopped again and then added, “I only had one chance.” 

Derek looked at him and was silent. Not quite the same way the Derek he knew so well could be, but it was the most alike he’d seen him. Finally he stood up and walked back to the door, giving Stiles one last look before leaving without saying another word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD.  
This chapter was murder to write. Like I was managing 100-200 words a day at times. But it’s done and I’m pretty happy with it. I’ve been trying to decide when to put Derek and Stiles in the same room and talking. It’s weird to basically be writing de-aged Derek fic, since it’s not a character I’ve written before, but I think I’m going to enjoy it. Much more likely to use his words!  
It’s a monster, almost 6500 words, and the scene I thought was going to be the ending didn’t even make it into the chapter. Already starting on chapter 13 of ‘Call of the Night’ and it’s going well. Hopefully chapter 6 of this goes quickly.


	6. Chapter 6

Day Three, Sunday: 

Stiles glanced out the window of the library as the sun broke the eastern horizon. The manic pace of the night burnt itself out and he slumped back into the chair. He looked around at the stacks of books he’d gone through during the night. Almost everything the Hales had that even mentioned kitsune or nogitsune. He wished he’d had access to all this in his own time, though it left him with as many questions as answers.

There was no record he’d found of anyone possessed by a nogitsune doing what he had done, though the power itself was well-documented among the oldest of nogitsune. There were some stories that implied that once possessed by a fox you could never be possessed by another one. But there was no clear answer, and it didn’t mean he couldn’t be possessed by the same nogitsune again, and so he was beginning to work from that theory. 

He’d managed to save everyone in this new timeline, but in doing so he’d apparently opened himself up to his own worst monster. And honestly, it shouldn’t even surprise him, this is always how it worked, best of intentions and worst of results being their motto. He shoved back away from the table and started pacing around the room, trying to talk himself through his options. 

He picked up a huge reference book on the various spiritual entities of the Japanese islands and a slender volume that was a rare testimonial from someone once possessed by a nogitsune in the 17th century. He rechecked the section he was interested in as he walked, and confirmed that the unnamed possessed had said what he thought, and yes, that nogitsune had possessed her for a reason. 

He tossed the big book down on the table and picked up a handful of notes that he started trying to sort unsuccessfully into the memoir, when some of them fell on the floor. With a mumbled curse, Stiles bent down to pick them up, and then he glanced up and froze, when he caught sight of Cora. 

She let out a terrified shriek and ducked back into the hallway. Good god, he thought, I must look like a crazy person. He certainly felt disjointed and odd in his own skin. 

He took a deep breath and tried to calm the frantic pace of his thoughts and senses. “Good morning, Cora, you’re up early,” he finally got out.

She walked into the library slowly and made her way around the table cautiously. “So are you… Stiles,” she said, giving him a deeply suspicious look. 

He wanted to laugh, but knew it would just sound manic, “Nah, never went to sleep, research. Sleep is for the dead.” 

Cora’s eyes went wider, but she didn’t reply. Instead she started moving around the table, pushing some of his notes around, opening and closing books. Every so often she’d glance at him, as if to make sure he wasn’t going to change into the monster he knew was inside him.

“Were you speaking Korean?” she asked eventually, when he’d finally thought she wasn’t going to say anything else.

He paused, thinking back to before she walked in. and made a sound. Had he? “No.” he said slowly, “Japanese, I guess.” Then paused for a moment remembering a shift in his thinking at one point, “Maybe Mandarin? I think I know some Mandarin too, maybe Russian...” he shrugged. It was still all a jumble in his head, emerging in bits and pieces.

She gave him a suspicious look, and asked, “Did you learn those on your travels?” 

He blinked. What travels? He thought. He’d rarely left Beacon Hills besides the occasional trip to New York to see his maternal grandparents when they were still alive, and the ill-fated summer internship at the FBI. “Not really,” he finally said. “They just sort of, you know, popped up in there.” He pointed at his head. How do you explain being possessed by a thousand year old spirit of chaos and destruction?

“How come I can’t understand you, is your translation circuit fried?” she asked, and honestly he had no idea what she was even talking about. Did she think he was a robot for some reason? Did she not understand what a monster he was?

“Something’s fried…” he finally whispered. His hopes. A chance to maybe enjoy this new world. A chance to see his friends thrive without all those disasters. The monster was back and there was only one solution he knew of.

She gave him a final look, it seemed worried and measuring, and honestly it was almost a relief to know that this Cora had so much of the Cora he’d known in her, and then she left. He looked down at the memoir in his hand, stuffed full of his notes and wondered what the point of any of this even was anymore.

  
  
  


As soon as he felt in control of himself again he went looking for Talia, and he eventually found her in the kitchen eating breakfast.

“How did your research go?” she asked, after telling him to help himself to the huge breakfast spread. 

His sense of panic returned. “Not well,” he admitted. “I think I have an answer, but it’s not the one I wanted.” He forked a couple of some unfamiliar savory filled breakfast goodies onto his plate and then a spoonful of eggs. “I think some part of what we did, or maybe just being here, left me open to the nogitsune again. I couldn’t find any history of re-possession, but while both kitsune and nogitsune can leave memories behind, the stories are pretty clear that they don’t leave any abilities behind. There’s a journal that was written by one former possessed, and she mentioned that while she was possessed she was a master swordsman, but after it left she had to learn the blade again the regular way.” 

“So actually using the void power is definitely not just a relic,” she said, nodding. “Though perhaps it’s what Peter thought and it’s tied to that damn tree.” 

“Possible, but there are very few things besides the nogitsune that can use the void power, and it’s the antithesis of what even a dark nemeton’s power would encompass. I think the nogitsune is probably the right idea.” 

“So what’s it mean, do you think?” 

“My best case scenario is that somehow I’m open to it but it’s still trapped. Which, since I haven’t lost any time yet seems actually possible. So go us! And as a bonus, the best case gives us a chance to trap it before things go further.” 

“And your worst case scenario?” she asked.

“That it’s already in me,” he said simply.

“And if that’s the case?” 

He looked at her frankly, “If the worst happens, I need you to bite me. After I die, the nogitsune will appear like a fly. You need to capture it. It’ll be weak, and at least temporarily, it’ll be limited to the fly’s senses. I tried to find ideas for something strong enough to hold it, since the container we used doesn’t exist here, but I didn’t find anything workable.” 

“Why can’t we send it back where it came from?” Talia asked, as he slid the bacon onto two plates and started eggs in the same pan.

“We’d need to know how it was summoned,” he answered. “And weirdly Noshiko never actually said. There’s a variety of ways, and all she said was she summoned it after consulting her ancestors.” 

“Did she mean that literally?”

“Oh yes. They’re creatures of spirit more than human, so they don’t think of life and death the same way. A kitsune can die, and then centuries later reappear. The books don’t give details of how it happens, but the most powerful of them, the nine-tailed foxes, they seem to slip between life and death with ease.” 

“I need to talk to Noshiko,” he added. “Now that I know more, I can tell that she didn’t really answer most of our questions then, and I feel like there was a lot to events that I missed.” 

“You said she was in New York right?” 

“Yeah, and I really shouldn’t put this off. I guess I’m going to start spending your money before intended.”

“You’ve more than earned it. And anyway, Peter is already gleeful that you’re going to make investing the Hale pack fund a breeze for the next few years.” 

He laughed. “Yeah that’s true,” he said. “I was going to go talk to Victoria Argent today if dad can get me in to see her. And I’m hoping to have Gerard tracked down this week.” 

“We’ve got all the packs in California looking for him, you concentrate on this.” 

“I’m an excellent multi-tasker. Plus, I’ve always been curious about what Victoria knew. While she was alive we underestimated her. Now I wonder if she wasn’t a bigger player than I thought, especially since she was actually here at the fire, and no one ever knew.” 

“Book your ticket. See if you can catch a flight this week. You need to know what you’re dealing with, and me biting you and killing you is not an acceptable solution.” 

“Does that bossy alpha thing work for you?” he groused. 

“With everybody except Peter,” she said with a smile.

“Well you’re going to find me a delightfully fresh breath of air,” he said with a smirk, as he sat down at the table with her.

“I already do.” She gave him a fond look as she pushed her empty plate away from her, “But book your ticket before you see the Argent. And don’t be late this afternoon. Everyone will be here by two for cake and celebrating.” 

“You’re sure you want me here?” he asked, giving her a steady look.

“Stiles, we’re only here because you came. I can’t figure out how to make you hear this and believe it, yes we want you here. Everyone likes you and wants you to be here. So yes. Be back by two.” 

“Yes Alpha,” he said with a grateful smile, something settling in him. No it wasn’t his pack, and couldn’t replace them. But maybe it could be a place to belong, in a world where he didn’t.

“Also maybe tomorrow I’d like to talk to you about Deucalion. I looked into the information in your notes, and yes, there do seem to be far fewer betas in his pack than before. We thought he was just losing his hold on his pack since his blinding, but now it seems that several have actually gone missing.” 

“Perfect.” He said, “Another problem on the rise.” 

“I’m checking on the other alphas you mentioned as well. I should have more information by tomorrow evening.” 

“It’s not going to be a dull summer.” He said with a sigh.

“I think we can handle this.” She said calmly as she stood up and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  
  
  


“Stuart,” his dad said, looking up in surprise. “How can I help you?” 

“I’d like to see one of the attackers from the fire. If that’s possible,” Stiles answered directly. While this was his father, he knew he couldn’t treat him like it, so asking directly was his best option. “I’d like to see Victoria Argent.”

“There’s no one here named Argent.” 

“I watched you arrest her,” Stiles said, confused. “And you said none of them could get a bail hearing before tomorrow afternoon.” 

“They haven’t had bail hearings. But this Victoria Argent isn’t here.” 

“Maybe she’s using a fake name? She’s an Argent, she might have been prepared for things to go wrong.” 

His dad looked at him closely. “Why do I feel like there’s more going on here than you’ve told me.” 

Stiles looked at his father, thinking quickly. “Nothing I’ve said about any of this is a lie, I swear. But I do know a lot about the Argents, and how they’re involved here.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us everything?” 

“Because it’s complicated.” 

His dad gave that oh so familiar pained look and glared at him. “Explain it to me.” 

Stiles took a deep breath. “Can we take a walk?” 

His dad looked at him a moment and then nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.” His dad stood up and motioned for him to follow. Only a few moments later they were walking down the sidewalk. And Stiles was trying to figure out exactly what to tell and not to tell. 

“So full disclosure,” he started, “There are parts of this I’m not going to tell you. Secrets that aren’t mine. Even some of mine that aren’t really relevant.” He stopped talking for a moment then said, “When I was 16 I met Chris and Victoria, and later Kate and Gerard. I found out that Kate had killed the family of a guy I knew. I found out much later that Gerard helped her plan it, and that Victoria helped carry it out. I told you my dad was a cop, well, I may have abused his access to trace Kate and Gerard’s activities. And I was able to place them at the scene of several other families that died tragically. Not always fires, but often.” 

“Wait, you’re saying they’re serial killers?” 

“Not exactly. They’re more like domestic terrorists. They think they’re doing God’s work. Destroying people they feel are unclean in a sense. They’re fanatics. I knew they were coming here, and that the Hales were a target. I knew with warning the fire could be prevented. Peter’s not actually my boyfriend, he’s just a friend.” 

“Well I’m not one to judge, but I’m a little relieved to hear that. Between the age thing and he’s been involved in some rather suspicious situations in the past.” 

“I can imagine.” Stiles said with a laugh. “But he’s not a bad guy. Or at least, he doesn’t have to be.” 

“And are you a bad guy?” his dad asked, looking at him in an oh so familiar way. 

“I hope not,” Stiles whispered and was quiet for a moment. “I try to do what’s right. But figuring out what’s right, it’s hard sometimes.” 

“So why do you want to talk to Victoria?” his dad asked. 

“I can’t predict Gerard at this point. I don’t know where he’d go. I don’t think he’d leave town. I’m hoping she can shed some light on what he’ll do.” Stiles shrugged. “I need to make sure the Hales stay safe, and with more information I should be able to keep tabs on him.” 

“If you don’t really know them, why do you care?” 

“Because if they’re safe, then other people who are important to me will stay safe.” 

“Your family?” 

“In part. My best friend too. All my friends really.” 

“How are they connected?” 

Stiles was quiet for a moment. “That’s getting into other people’s secrets,” he said finally.

“If people are dying for them, they must be dangerous secrets. Are the Hales part of a cult?” 

Stiles snorted. “I guess that’s one way to think of it. It’s not accurate, not really. But if it helps you to think of it that way. It’s not a dangerous one. Or at least not anymore inherently dangerous that any other belief system, to use that analogy.” 

“Alright, will you answer one more question honestly?” 

“If I can.” 

“Why are you so concerned with Gerard but not at all concerned with Kate, who is still out there too?” 

Stiles was quiet for a moment, mentally berating himself for the oversight. “Gerard is the planner,” he said. “He’s more dangerous. She’s an attack dog, one on one she’s dangerous, but he’s the bigger concern for me right now.” 

“Even though nobody saw him at the fire.” 

“I saw him in town less than two hours before the fire with two of the guys you arrested. He was there.” 

“Okay. How about this, you let me take this to the sheriff so we can get a wire on you, and we’ll figure out which one she is, and send you in to talk to her. If you can get her to admit that Gerard was there and involved we’ll find him and bring him in too.” 

Stiles nodded. “Deal.” 

“We also still need a set of elimination prints for you, you weren’t at the house yesterday when the team went out and got the rest of the Hales.”

“Oh yeah, we can do that real quick.” 

“You’re not worried about what we’ll find if we run your prints?” his dad asked.

Stiles smirked. “You’re so convinced I’m a criminal.”

“I have a good trouble detector.” 

“And a clear grasp on me already.” 

“You do seem to be everywhere.” 

“You have no idea, get used to it,” Stiles said with a laugh.

“I feel like I should warn you to stay within the law,” his dad said with a serious tone but a twinkle in his eye.

“I’ll try to limit my lawbreaking to federal crimes so you’re not involved.” 

“I’m not sure that’s what I was looking for.” 

Stiles laughed. “Let’s go get my prints taken and you can talk to the sheriff.” They turned and headed back, his dad asking questions and Stiles dodging some and answering others.

When they got back, his dad introduced him to Deputy Cahill, who Stiles knew would not now be killed during the kanima incident, and it pushed away his earlier panic just a bit more. He had done good just by coming, he had to believe that. 

Deputy Cahill chatted with him amiably as he carefully wiped Stiles fingers down with alcohol, asking how he was doing since the fire, about his past. Stiles knew that the amiable nature hid a first class interrogator. 

As he rolled Stiles fingers over the scanner, Cahill explained the process, though Stiles was familiar with it from his own time. He’d used the machines’ search capacity a time or two after all. 

When they were done, Cahill thanked him and led him back to his dad’s desk to wait. Stiles resisted the urge to poke around on the desk like he would have in his own timeline. He turned and glanced in the office that in his time was his fathers and saw him talking to the sheriff. He smiled as he watched the familiar expressions on his father's face while he talked to the sheriff. 

He leaned back and watched his father talk and the sheriff reply, wondering what they were saying. He had a deep pang of missing Scott and Derek, and their ridiculous super-powered hearing. God he missed them! He missed arguing with Scott. 

He even missed Derek’s ridiculous habit of shoving him into whatever vertical surface was closest. He’d thought for a long time, several months at the beginning, that it was just aggression. But he realized later that it was more than that, it was a way for Derek to touch when he didn’t know how to ask for it and desperately needed it.

Stiles felt so hollow here without them. 

He closed his eyes and slumped back into the chair, just taking a moment to remember them. He’d been avoiding all of them, all of his memories. An entire world that only he remembered. 

“Stuart?” his dad asked, and he opened his eyes.

“Da-“ he started to say, caught himself and finished “-eputy.” He smiled weakly. “I’m fine. I was just thinking.” 

“The sheriff called a judge and got a warrant for the wire. Are you still okay with it?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.” 

His dad led him to one of the conference rooms and had him sit down. “According to your description, the woman you know of as Victoria Argent is actually named ‘Mary Summers’. She has a previous arrest in 1998 during a political protest in Portland. Since then she’s had a couple of tickets. If this is a fake identity it’s well established. But the sheriff thinks that if there is indeed a string of similar incidents to tie these people to, it's worth trying, and the Hales are well loved in this town.” 

Stiles nodded, thinking about how that goodwill had evaporated after Derek had been arrested for Laura’s death. Even after the murder was blamed on Kate, he’d never really escaped the headlines. 

His dad pulled out the bug, it was bigger than he expected, though still small. “This is actually both video and audio surveillance since we’re establishing her identity.” He smiled as he taped the wire to the inside of Stiles shirt, and arranged the pinhole camera to mimic one of his buttons. “We won’t be able to hear what you say until we play it back. But the more you get her to say the better.” 

“I understand,” Stiles said simply. “Thank you for letting me in to see her.” 

“I hope you’re right. I put a lot on the line to take this to the sheriff.” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

His dad smiled at him and said, “Alright, let’s go see what you’ve got.” They got up and his dad led him to one of the private meeting rooms where jail occupants could meet with their lawyers. Victoria was already inside, handcuffed to the table. 

Stiles sat down across from her, and studied her. She was younger than he remembered, but she still had the same cold and measuring look in her eye. “Hi Victoria my name is Stuart,” he said. 

“I don’t think I know you. And my name is Mary.” 

“No it’s not, Victoria. Because I know you even if you don’t recognize me. Gerard’s plan would have gone very differently if you knew me, knew what to expect.” Stiles said, feeling a strange exultation at being the one in control for once when it came to the Argents.

“Who’s Gerard?” she said, but he could see her weighing his words. 

“Kate’s father. Chris’s father. Your father-in-law.” He paused and smiled coldly, “Allison’s grandfather.” 

Her eyes grew furious. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in a low angry voice.

“I’m not a cop Victoria, clearly. I mean look at me, I’m 18 and I look it. I just want to find Gerard. You Argents are like a cockroach infestation and I want you all cleared up.” 

“Whatever you think you know, you know nothing.” 

“Victoria. You’re wrong. I know everything. I told you, I know who you are. I know how many families you’ve exterminated like dogs. You and Gerard, and vile little Kate. Honestly, I’m surprised Gerard was ever okay with her sleeping with Derek. I mean, that’s a question I’ve always wondered about, does he just consider it acceptable because it’s all part of the plan or does he consider it the equivalent of fucking a dog?” 

“Kate’s filthy predilections are in service to the family,” Victoria said heatedly. “And the plan was mine. Once I found out she’d started fucking them before she killed them the plan just fell into place.” 

“Of course. It all started with the Abrams family didn’t it?” he nodded. “That's why I couldn’t find earlier fires. I should have guessed you were involved in the planning when I first found that report. Two former members of your little group of merry psychos turned traitor after going through their more than a little change of heart, and hiding out in backwater Montana with their two small kids before a very messy fire killed them.”

“If they’d followed the Code I wouldn’t have needed to do anything. And Kate was already sleeping with him on the side.” 

“I feel like I owe you an apology. I always thought Gerard was the mastermind, but it really was you all along, wasn’t it? I always forget the Argent women are the planners. Of course, with Chris as a husband you couldn’t be open about it.” 

“You know an awful lot about my family for being some random kid.” 

“Looks are deceiving. Look at you, you could almost pass for a human being if you didn’t have a reptile’s eyes. Think of me as the dog that got away.” 

“You’ll never find him,” she hissed. “And he’ll be back to take care of that whole filthy family, dog.” 

“I’m not too worried,” he said, then leaned in and whispered. “Watashi wa shi no shisha Da.”

Her eyes grew distant for a moment then focused on him like lasers. “Another dog. A zenko dog? Or a yako?” 

“Guilty. For at least one of them,” he said with a grin. Then reached into his shirt and clicked off the recording. “Now that I’ve fulfilled my pledge to the nice policemen, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to tell me where to find Gerard or I’m going to hunt down your precious darling girl and kill her slowly. You pick. Kate’s already dead. Once he’s gone I’ll consider the debt owed to me fulfilled, and I’ll leave Chris and Allison alone.” 

“Nogitsune,” she breathed, her face losing color.

“Honestly, it’s a meaningless point of difference,” he answered, in a voice like he was confiding a secret. “After all, a tail is a tail. And field or manor, all serve the same hand,” he added. “It’s just that some of us serve the right hand, and some of us-“ he paused looking closely at her, “some of us serve the left.” 

“A yako dog serves nothing and has no honor,” she replied. 

“True. But even the zenko will lie at a whim. So your choices for your daughter are between certain death, and a probable one.” 

She sat quiet for a moment and Stiles sat across from her with his most feral expression like a mask. 

“The tunnels,” she said reluctantly. “Beneath the old Argent Arms building.” 

“The bunker, of course.” He rolled his eyes, “honestly, I’m a little disappointed I didn’t think of that myself. Maybe I really do need a nap.” He pushed back away from the table. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but it really hasn’t. I hope you burn in hell.”

“And Allison?” she asked.

“I told you she’d live. Unlike the Argents I’m mostly a man of my word.” 

She shook her head warily. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Smart, but unnecessary. Goodbye Victoria.” He nodded and walked out. Closing the door, he turned to his father, “Got it. Plus she implicated Kate and Gerard, plus admitted she knew Kate was sleeping with Derek. Ugh, she’s gross. I need a shower.” 

“And Gerard?” his dad asked.

“I’ll tell you if you promise to call in the FBI to take him down. I doubt he’s alone, and I’m sure he’s got every conceivable weapon there. It’ll be a fortress.” 

“Stuart, that's not my decision. Besides it’s on the tape.” 

“Naw,” he said with a smirk, “I turned off the recording before I asked where he was.” 

“This isn’t a game!” his dad said heatedly.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Stiles said looking at him. “But you need to be overly cautious and incredibly smart about Gerard. He’s lethal. He’s been doing monstrous acts for at least 40 years. Please.” 

“We know how dangerous they are. We saw the way these guys were armed. But I’ll talk to the sheriff,” his dad said with a sigh. 

“They’re going to be involved soon anyway. The Argents have committed crimes in at least 15 states that I know of. And he’s the worst of them all. They own a weapons manufacturing and sales business for god's sake. Just, please stay safe. I don’t want to bring Stiles into this to guilt you, but imagine it’s him asking you to stay safe, because that’s who I’m thinking about.” 

His dad sighed. “If I didn’t know your dad was a cop that would be a low blow. Someday, will you ever tell me your full story?” 

“If I ever get to the point I think you’ll believe me, I promise,” Stiles said sincerely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of Shade for 2019.  
What a year. Almost 200,000 words posted on here this year (it will be 200k by the end of tomorrow, when chapter 16 of Call goes up), and I‘ve got a big plans for 2020! I hope you have a happy new year and we’ll see you next year! As always your comments, questions, and kudos are life. Let me know where you think this is going:-)


	7. Chapter 7

He made it back to the Hale house just before two, feeling more balanced than he had since he’d arrived in the past. He’d even found a cautious sort of optimism about Gerard, knowing that letting the police and FBI take him out would neutralize the danger of the spell even if it was already in place. 

He pulled the Jeep into the driveway, surprised by the array of cars, far more than had been here just a few days before to celebrate. Curious, he slid out and walked in through the side door. He glanced at the spot where Jennifer Blake had died, and wondered, for the first time, if Kali had known what her emissary was up to. Another thing for him to follow up on. Out front he could see some of the family and a few strangers he didn’t know, talking and appearing to have a good time. 

When he slipped inside he could hear Talia talking to Robert from the kitchen so he followed the sounds of the familiar voices. As he slipped into the kitchen Talia turned and smiled at him, and Robert just gave him a slight nod as he finished making his comment. 

“I’m back, as promised,” he said. “Victoria is probably answering some very hard questions about who she is and where Gerard is, so that went well. So I’m pretty sure I’ve earned some cake.” 

Talia laughed. “There’s plenty, come meet some friends.” She took his arm and led him out the front door and down the familiar steps where a larger crowd than expected were gathered. “Stiles, let me introduce you to Alpha Jonathan Talbot, who I don’t think you know,” she said leading him up to a surprisingly short but powerfully built man. 

Stiles couldn't quite prevent himself from reacting. Brett’s grandfather, of course Talia would know him. He tilted his head to the side and nodded slightly, observing the traditional respectful greeting to an alpha friendly to your pack. Talbot nodded back, “So you’re the Spark I’ve heard so much about,” Talbot said softly. 

Stiles nodded. “Probably,” is all he said. 

“Had we met, in your timeline?” Talbot asked. 

“No, Alpha. Alpha Ito had talked about you a few times, but you’d-” he paused looking for a diplomatic response, “had a problem with hunters in your territory and so weren’t really able to help with your problems.” 

“We should talk sometime so I can be prepared. I’d like to hear what you remember.” 

“It won’t be likely to happen now. It was sort of a tied up with the Argent family, and with them falling apart, I imagine things won’t go the way it did. I’m planning on stepping down on Chris pretty hard when I see him. I won’t be making a friend, but I think I can get him to toe the line.” 

“I’d still like to talk,” Talbot said. “Talia and I have been watching the Deucalion problem, and she says you have information on that subject as well.” 

“Oh god. So much,” Stiles said with a slight groan. “So, maybe not the time to discuss it, but do you know the alpha named Kali?” He spoke softly so most other ears wouldn’t hear them over the soft music and other conversation around them.

“Kali, of course,” he replied. 

And Talia added, “She's a bit headstrong, and I know what you said her future was, but is there a concern at this point?” 

“The druid from the night of the fire. Her name was Julia Baccari, I knew her as Jennifer Blake. She was Kali’s emissary.” 

“And you’re worried what this means for the pack?” Talia said. 

“Not just that. I think they may have been a couple. Which I know is sort of a bad idea for an alpha and an emissary. I mean, Talia said it’s not against the rules or illegal, just dumb. But yeah, is this going to cause problems?” 

Talbot was silent and Talia said, “No. Emissaries aren’t part of the pack. An emissary should stand apart from the pack deliberately. My guess that the reason Kali in your time attempted to kill Baccari was because of their relationship, not because she was an emissary, though it’s just a guess.” 

Talbot nodded. “I’m troubled to hear of an emissary taking part in an attack on a pack. That’s anathema to their vows, and it’s a question that should be put to the Druidic First Circle.” 

“I’ve never even heard of them,” Stiles said with a small shrug. “Who are they?” 

“Your timeline Deaton didn't involve them when your darach was active?” Talia said, with a puzzled face. 

“No. Like I said, I haven’t even heard them mentioned before. I mean, it could be something he said to Scott, not everything got passed onto me.” He shrugged. 

“How did you take out a darach without the support of the druids themselves?” Talbot asked, clearly troubled. 

“Well, Derek and Scott and Deucalion kind of stopped her, but Peter is the one who actually killed her,” Stiles said. 

“What was Deaton doing?” Talia asked. 

“Being cryptic and as unhelpful as possible,” Stiles said. “Like it’s weird to see your Deaton here, because it’s like a completely different guy than the dude I know.” 

Talia and Talbot looked disturbed and after a moment he said, “Let’s table this until tomorrow. Or else we’re going to spend the whole party plotting and worrying.” 

Talia nodded, then turned to Stiles, “Jonathan is going to be back tomorrow afternoon so we can go over the information on Deucalion. Plus, Peter should be back in the morning with your documents as well.” 

“Awesome, I can finally travel,” Stiles said with a grin. 

Talia laughed and led him away. “I know in your time you know Alpha Ito, but I want to introduce you to her now?” Talia asked. 

“That’s good, I want to ask her about Noshiko,” Stiles said. “I think they were close.” 

“It’s strange to hear about secrets from before I was born, like your nogitsune,” Talia said. “It makes me wonder about my own secrets.” 

“I mean, we’ve still got a conversation about coyotes to have,” Stiles said with a shrug. “How many more do you have?” 

Talia’s face was calm and collected, and all she said was, “Every alpha has secrets. If that’s the only one of mine to come to light, perhaps that’s not so bad.” 

Stiles half shook and half nodded his head, suddenly worried for the potential for new problems implicit in her comment. 

He kept worrying about the alpha’s secrets as the party got really going, and he kept catching glimpses of wolves from all three packs coming and going from the trees to the house. He knew that everyone was keeping a close eye out for hunters, and most of the betas were taking turns covering the security perimeter for a time. It was strange to meet this Satomi, who treated him with a deeper suspicion than the Satomi of his timeline ever did, and she declined to be drawn into a conversation about Noshiko when he tried to bring her up. 

After a couple of hours of being social, he was exhausted from the people treating him like a sideshow exhibit and retreated to the house. Robert found him in the library not long after.

“Do you mind some company?” the werewolf asked quietly. 

“No, come on in. I just needed to get away,” Stiles said slumping further into the chair.

“My sister likes an excuse for a party but it gets to be a little much for me.” Robert said sitting down across the table from him. 

“I was just tired of everyone acting like I’m some sideshow exhibit. It’s like ‘See him here today folks, the marvelous man from the future!’ And everyone wants to know what I remember of them and I can’t just say ‘you were all dead’ and not feel super awkward.”

“We’re all just werewolves, so time travel seems like fantasy or something from a legend.”

Stiles snorted out a clipped laugh. “I don’t even know dude, It's maybe the tenth weirdest thing so far in my life.” He thought for a moment and then said, “Let’s see, possessed by an ancient chaos demon ranked pretty high, then taken by the Wild Hunt and forgotten by everyone who knew me, that’s up there, Gerard’s weird ass spell of vengeance, and okay, well time travel might actually make the top five.” 

Robert laughed, and Stiles grinned along with him. “You know the proverb, ‘May you live in interesting times?’” 

“Seems like a fucking curse to me at this point,” Stiles said. “I remember being excited when Scott was first bit. It was terrifying but also kind of an adventure too. But that feeling faded fast.” 

“When I read about what happened in your timeline, I kept wondering where Deaton was, and where Talia’s allies were.” 

“Being here, I wonder the same thing, I wonder about so many things I didn’t know.” Stiles said. “I wonder what happened with Laura and Derek before Scott was bitten. There were so many things I didn’t know to ask, or didn’t want to ask Derek later when we were friends.” 

“You weren’t friends at first?” 

Stiles snorted. “I should write a more detailed version someday, like the first thing he said to us was basically ‘hey kids get off my lawn-’” He shook his head. “He made the worst first impression on us, well, we probably didn’t do so great either.” 

“But you worked together to take down Peter, while he was feral.” 

“Badly. He didn’t trust us, we didn’t trust him.” Stiles sighed and tilted his head back to rest on the chair. “It wasn’t until after Peter came back and the summer before the alpha pack that we really became friends.” 

The conversation continued on, Robert slowly teasing a deeper understanding of the Stiles timeline out of him. It was the most relaxed Stiles had been since he’d come to the past, telling stories that were sometimes terrifying and sometimes silly to the older man. 

Outside they could hear the sounds of the party grow louder, then eventually start to die down as it grew darker, and Robert looked at his watch and sighed. “I need to get back out there, I told Talia I’d keep watch this evening.” 

“Still no signs of Gerard?” 

“No, nothing.” 

“Victoria says he’s in the tunnels beneath the Argent Arms building.” 

“There are so many sets of tunnels beneath this city,” Robert sighed. “When they put in the new tunnels for the water treatment plant they ran across ten or twelve different sets that no one knew were there.” 

“You know about the set that runs into the preserve?” 

“I know they exist. I’ve never been in them.” 

“Once Gerard is caught I’ll take you down in them. I have a few things that I need to check down there.” 

“I look forward to it,” Robert said, then he stood up and hesitated for a moment, “Talia is worried that you’re isolating yourself from the pack.” 

“Is that why you came to find me?”

“In part.” The werewolf was quiet for a moment, “Talia and Peter are both more outgoing than me. I’ve always been on the fringes of the pack, not because I don’t love my family, but because it’s in my nature.” 

“I’m just trying to figure out where I fit in here,” Stiles said with a shrug. “I’m trying.” 

“I know. She knows. We may not understand what you’ve gone through, but we’re here, the whole pack is.” 

Stiles nodded. “I’m just trying to find some sort of solid ground. I feel like I’m in freefall.” 

Robert came around the table and patted Stiles shoulder. “You’ll find your anchor, just keep looking.” 

“I’m trying,” he answered simply. And a moment later he was alone in the room, but the sense of having found a tentative balance didn’t leave him. 

  
  


Hours later, after night had fallen and most everyone had gone to bed, Stiles felt a itch to move in the space between his shoulders, and it drew him back outside. He reached out with his spark for the ley lines which he knew ran heavily all around, but they felt as normal as they had since he’d arrived. He wondered if the drive came from whatever portion of the nogitsune or its power that had been coming alive, and what it might mean; or if it was something else altogether. 

What it most reminded him of was that night he didn’t like to think of, when he and Scott and Allison had died to locate their parents. Afterward the nemeton has always been in the back of his mind, a dark heavy presence. But since he’d come back it had been muted. The weight of its darkness felt different. Like it had drawn away from him and was waiting for something or someone. 

He slipped into the trees around the house, the night alive around him. Through the night he could feel the nemeton waiting patiently as it always did. He used it as a compass to keep track of how he wandered away from the house, feeling the night air move over him. 

The scattered moonlight drew him deeper into the preserve, the night air cooling quickly around him. The tie to the nemeton drew him onward, and he wondered how that hadn’t been erased when he’d come through time. Perhaps, he mused, the nemeton stood apart from time on some level. 

He wandered around a small hill and down a ravine, and something in the layout sparked a memory of another night spent wandering the Preserve. He turned and looked up the hill. Yes, this was just about the spot he’d gotten separated from Scott that fateful night in the woods when their life changed. 

He turned and walked up the hill, trying to find the spot where they’d run into Derek the next day. Behind him he could feel the ever-present pull of the nemeton, a lodestone providing him a constant beacon to navigate by. From the top it was easy to see through the bare trees to catch sight of the little clearing that set so much in motion. 

“Derek,” he whispered, and absently stroked the spot on his chest where the once-alpha had grabbed and shoved him against his bedroom door. Even in the moment he’d never feared Derek would actually hurt him, and at the time he’d never been able to put an answer to ‘why’ he was so certain of the feeling. He sighed and turned back toward the nemeton and let it draw him down the hill and back into the trees. 

As he drew closer though, he could feel the ley lines converging with his spark and it felt... off. Muted. Not just the nemeton, but the actual convergence itself, the place of power where the ley lines intersected and the telluric currents rose to the surface. He wondered if this was just what the convergence felt like in the era before Jennifer Blake’s sacrifices. But as he came into sight of the nemeton itself, he recoiled. Wards of enormous power arced the perimeter around the great stump. Wards he’d never seen any evidence of in his own timeline.

“How-?” he breathed, then stepped closer to the wards. He summoned the flickering power of his spark and summoned a thousand twinkles of witch light and sent them toward the wards which failed to react to them. The tiny witch lights bobbled around as he thought. Then he directed them toward the nemeton itself, and for a brief moment he was reminded of the nogitsune’s flies, but the thought passed quickly. The lights drifted around the ancient stump, which failed to react at all. 

Perplexed he poured more power into the witch lights, so they swelled and cast enough light to throw shadows. “The fuck?” he muttered, mystified. What were these wards protecting? He called the lights back toward him and when they shone directly overhead, he bent down and scratched a quick diagram in the dirt. He paused for a moment as he considered which runes and sigils would best work. When he was done he pulled his pocket knife out and looked at his palm and sighed.

“Oh well,” he said with a shrug, and sliced a second thin line next to the line from the night of the fire. Blood welled out and dripped into the circle, as it dripped he breathed deep and said: 

“Videre.” _To see_, he thought, and focused for a moment on that sense. 

“Audire.” _To hear_ came next. He suspected he’d only need those two senses. But he was committed, and it was easier to do all of them to make sure he missed nothing. 

“Tangere.” _To touch_. Dangerous perhaps, with wards far beyond his ability to craft at work, but he needed to understand.

“Degustare.” _To taste_. Unlikely to be helpful really, but it was good practice. 

“Olefactere.” _To smell_, also unlikely to be helpful, but still. 

“Fiat!” He finished, and felt the rush of power as the spell took effect. He opened his eyes and the ley lines of power flickered into being around him, the deeper power of the telluric tide tumbled against his soul. As he watched the lines form around him he gasped in horror. The ley lines were warped away from the nemeton, so the convergence now twisted into a moat of power that surrounded the ancient tree without touching it. 

“Who did this?” he said, horrified. A nemeton was the physical manifestation of a convergence. A place where, first druids, but later other magic users as well, could tap into the power of both the lines and the currents. Behind him he could hear the rustle of feathers as a raven in one of the surrounding trees shifted in its sleep, then a low squawk before it grew silent again. 

He focused and the great web of the wards came into focus, and he could see what they hid. Great poles of power sunk into the ground, bending both the currents and the ley lines, creating a void around the nemeton.

“But why?” he said softly, mystified. Surely this wasn’t done by the pack or an emissary. No druid would profane a nemeton in such a way, so this must have happened in the years since the nemeton was cut down. 

Behind him he heard a branch snap and he whirled around, in the radiant power of the ley lines and deep in his spell, the figure of the shapeshifter in the trees was clear. Its brilliant blue aura was powerful and tight to its body, the shape of the wolf inside so clear. 

“Derek?” he said softly, the only blue eyed wolf he knew to be around. 

“What are you doing?” Derek said softly into the night air. 

“Fuck, you scared me,” Stiles said sagging back slightly. He watched Derek slip out of the trees and come closer before he turned back around to the clearing. “I just wanted to check out the nemeton. I hadn’t since I got here. But this-“ he waved his hand toward the monstrous array around the tree, and shook his head. “I don’t even know what all this is.” 

“All what?” Derek asked, clearly confused. 

Stiles remembered that this wasn’t his Derek, with the residual sensitivity in his eyes from the alpha power he’d once carried. 

“Come over here,” Stiles said, motioning to the spot next to him. Derek slipped closer, still unsure what was going on. 

“Give me your hand,” Stiles said holding his out to take it. 

Derek slipped his hand into Stiles. “If it’s okay,” Stiles said, “I’m going to cut a line in your hand like mine. If you let your blood drip into the circle I’ll teach you the spell so you can see the magic around you.” 

“But I’m a werewolf,” Derek protested.

“The magic comes from me,” Stiles replied. “You’re just piggybacking onto my spell.” 

“Oh, okay,” Derek said nodding. “Alright.” 

Stiles was surprised that this Derek trusted him so readily, and wondered if this was why Kate had picked him, this easy trust, and it made him hate her just a little bit more. He looked down at the other boy’s hand, gripped lightly in his, then slid the knife across the unmarked skin. Blood welled up and dripped into the circle in front of them. 

“Okay, go ahead and close your eyes and I want you to think about the act of seeing, about sight. And then repeat after me.” 

“Videre,” Stiles said.

“Videre,” Derek replied. 

“Good. Now I want you to think about hearing, and say ‘Audire.’” 

“Audire,” Derek said, more confidently. 

“Good. Now I want you to think about seeing and hearing everything around you, and then say ‘Fiat,’” Stiles said. “Then open your eyes.” 

“Fiat,” Derek said, his voice low and focused. Then he opened his eyes and gasped. “What is that?” he said softly. 

“Magic,” Stiles said, watching the look of wonder on the boy’s face revealed in the light of the ley lines. “It’s what’s called a convergence. A place where the ley lines intersect and the telluric currents rise to the surface. There are a few others around Beacon Hills, if you know where to look. But this is the big one. The tree in the middle is called a nemeton. A sacred place to the druids. The place where the power of the earth met the power of the sky.” 

“What happened to the tree?” 

“I have no idea. It was like this in my time too. It shouldn’t be. A convergence should have a living nemeton, and a nemeton in a convergence like this should be a beacon for a thousand miles. None of this makes sense.” 

“Are you going to fix it?” Derek asked quietly in that serious voice Stiles knew so well. 

“I’m going to start with finding out how it got this way,” Stiles said. “This is a blasphemy, a heresy. I can’t even imagine how you’d bind this much power. I’ve heard of manipulating ley lines, but it’s always in small ways. This is-“ he shook his head. “I don’t know what this is, or what you’d have to sacrifice to do this.” 

Stiles realized he was still holding Derek’s hand and let it drop. Derek glanced over at him, a look Stiles couldn’t identify on his face. 

“Are you ready to head back?” Stiles asked. 

“Sure,” Derek said. “I mean, if you’re done here?” 

“I’m not even sure what’s going on here,” Stiles said, shaking his head, “But I’ve seen enough.” 

“How do we, you know, end this?” Derek said, pointing at his eyes. 

“End it? No dude, it’s permanent now,” Stiles said with a straight face and laughed when Derek gave him a look of horror. “I’m kidding. Close your eyes and say ‘finitem.’” 

Derek did and visibly relaxed when he reopened his eyes. Stiles repeated the process and then blinked his eyes open. He used his foot to brush away the sigils and the circle. Then he flicked his attention toward the witch lights and snuffed them out. 

“I feel like I’ve been here before,” Derek said as the darkness again covered them. The pale light of the moon bathing the world in a ghostly radiance. 

“You have,” Stiles said. 

“Why can’t I remember it?” 

“Your mom took the memory of the place from you.” 

“This is the cellar,” Derek said, his voice catching as he said it.

“Yeah. The door is on the other side.” 

“Why did she take that memory?” Derek asked. 

“I don’t know. There’s something wrong with the nemeton. With the whole convergence point really. But I’m guessing it’s dangerous. And it’s best that the location be kept secret besides your parents.” 

Derek nodded. “You’re going to tell them you were here?” 

“She’s the alpha,” Stiles said. “She should know. Whatever this is, it’s not right.” 

Derek seemed to relax slightly. 

“Dude, did you think I wasn’t going to tell her?”

“I didn’t know. You were sneaking around. And you’ve been weird and secretive since you got here.” He shrugged.

“Is that why you followed me then?” 

“I got up to get a drink and I saw you heading through the trees and I wondered where you were going.” 

“So you were just snooping,” Stiles said with a laugh.

“No,” Derek protested. “You’ve just been-“ he shrugged. “Alone I guess. And I didn’t want you to be.” 

“That’s sweet in a slightly stalkerish and honestly a very Derek Hale kind of way,” Stiles said. “So I guess I should be used to it.” 

“Wait, did I used to creep around following you?” Derek asked, looking mortified. “Why?” 

Stiles thought for a moment, letting his memories pull up those desperate early months. “I think he was trying to decide if he could trust us.” 

“But he did, you said he did eventually.” 

“Eventually. There was a lot of mutual annoying and life saving to get there,” Stiles said, zipping his hoodie up. 

“Tell me something about him. Something true.” 

“Something true,” Stiles murmured, thinking. “He was-“ He paused to get the words right and stopped walking, “he gave everything he had. Always. He never asked for anything, I think maybe he was afraid to. But he gave all the time, in his way. In the way he could.” 

“I don’t know if I’m like him,” Derek said in the shared silence of the darkness, “I’m not like that.” 

“I hope you’re not. I hope you never have to be,” Stiles said looking at Derek in the pale moonlight. “Derek, my Derek, his life took everything away from him, again and again. He gave because he was afraid to want anything. I hope you’re never in that kind of place. It’s what I came back to stop.” 

“Was he happy?” Derek asked.

“I think he was as much as he could be. I don’t know, he was content maybe? I guess? He was afraid to want anything, to try to be happy, so I don’t know if there was much to bring him joy, but he was at peace with his past finally. I thought that maybe he was close to wanting to try for happiness again. Maybe if things hadn’t gone to shit that last year he might have been.” 

“Is that why you avoid me?”

Stiles gave him a wry grin, “It's not just you that I avoid. I’ve got a lot of my own shit to deal with. I’m a little messed up in the head after everything that happened. I know you’re not my Derek. I know that, I do, but I still look at you and I find myself looking for him. And it’s hard. And I feel guilty about leaving you with what Kate did. I know what my Derek would have said, but I didn’t think about what you’d feel about it.” 

“I still have a hard time believing it. I mean, I know what she was doing, but it all felt so real,” Derek said looking down at his feet, his arms crossed so tightly against himself in an utterly familiar way. 

“We never talked about it, but I think he always loved her as much as he hated her, and part of why he hated himself for so long is because of that,” Stiles said. “She was very very good at what she did.” 

“I just wish I knew why she picked me,” Derek said. “Did she see how isolated I was from the pack? Could she tell?” 

Stiles took a deep breath, unsure if this was the right thing to say or not. “I told you last night that there were others. That’s something I never told my Derek. I don’t know if it makes things better or not.” Stiles was quiet for a moment. “After I met Derek, and Kate came back and she died. Well, would have died if it wasn’t Beacon Hills and no one stays dead. That summer afterward, once I understood what she’d done, I spent a lot of time at my dad's office tracking where she’d been. I kept thinking there must be other victims.” 

“And you found them?” Derek asked quietly. 

Stiles nodded. “At least five other fires before this one. She- god this is so fucked up. She liked to leave the person she had used alive. A couple of them committed suicide. She liked- I think she liked leaving them as a witness to the destruction. I met one of the other survivors and his sister later. I asked him once about her, and he said the same thing. He still loved her. She was very very good at making it seem real.” 

Derek was quiet for a time after Stiles was finished, and then, a moment later, the wolf leaned into Stiles and cried silently into his shoulder, his body shaking. Stiles had seen Derek, his Derek, cry before. When Boyd died, and again when they found out first Isaac and then Cora had died. By the time Peter died he had been ready for it. But seeing this Derek cry was different. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“No,” Derek said. “I’m glad I know. Do you- I mean do you think we could find some of the others? To let them know she’s dead?” 

Stiles nodded. “I remember some of the names, of the ones before I mean. I guess the ones after, those are more people my Derek saved.” 

“Will you help me track them down?” 

“Yeah. I need to find something to do with my time until well, until whatever happens I guess.” 

“Do you still think you’re going to just fade away to nothing?” Derek asked. “I mean, it’s been days.” 

“No,” Stiles said quietly, still holding the boy. “I think I’m here to stay.” 

“Good,” Derek said quietly into his shoulder, and they stayed huddled together under the moon’s soft light until they were ready to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god.  
Okay, I’m so sorry. Cause it’s been ages since I updated this.  
I think you’ll like this chapter, it sets up a couple of hints well, plus finally starts the slow roll toward Sterek.  
Let me know what you think, and if you have any guesses as to what’s going on with the nemeton and why it wasn’t that way in Stiles time, cause I’m curious where your thoughts are:-)  
As always, kudos and comments fuel me.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles sank into the guest room bed with a soft sigh. He knew he needed to try to get some sleep tonight, over the last year he’d learned he could do fine on missing a night of sleep, but two nights and the hallucinations would start, and there was no telling if they would be his or the nogitsune’s. Visions of a tenth century Japanese battlefield he could handle, being haunted by the specter of Allison Argent he couldn’t.

He tried to relax his muscles, tried to ease some of the ever-present tension. He knew he should feel safe. Knew that the temporary proximity spells he’d placed around the house would wake him if anyone he hadn’t keyed to them came near. He rolled over onto his side and tried to get comfortable, which shouldn’t be a problem, because wow was his mattress amazing. Eventually he felt his body start to relax and he finally drifted off to sleep. 

  
Monday:  
His eyes bounced open in the darkness, a rush of panic propelling him from another dream of a stranger's death, the crystal sharp agony of their pain like a lance in his head and heart. It was the worst part of the nogitsune’s dreams, remembering its victims' terror. When his heartbeat had returned to normal, he glanced at his phone. 

Five hours of sleep. 

And that was good for him lately. Rather than get up though, he took the opportunity to just lay in bed and try to relax and plan out his day. He knew Peter planned to be back around ten, and after everyone had left for school and work, Talia was expecting Satomi and Jonathan Talbot to arrive for their conference. Plus he needed to get a run in. He hadn’t been running since he’d arrived in the past, and he knew that was one way to manage his anxiety. Today he would change that. 

When the panic had calmed down a bit and he felt he had a plan for the day, he got up and made it down the stairs where he found Laura and Derek eating a hurried breakfast in the kitchen. Derek gave him a long look that he couldn’t quite guess the meaning of. 

“Back to school today?” he asked simply, rubbing at his eyes.

“Yeah,” Laura said. “Mom said we didn’t have to, but I have a test and Der has practice tonight.” 

“Baseball?” Stiles asked and Derek nodded. 

“I remember my Derek telling me once that he’d played.” 

“Is it weird?” Laura asked. “I mean, I’ve been trying not to pry, but if you are up for talking about it.” 

“Yes and no,” Stiles said, trying to explain. “I mean, I knew I’d see him when I was coming, so it’s weird but an expected weird I guess. It’s-“ he paused to think, “It’s weird to be in the day to day of now.” 

There was a brief silence before finally Derek said, “Did you play?” 

“Baseball?” Stiles asked, and Derek nodded. “In junior high. But in high school my best friend Scott talked me into lacrosse instead.” 

“Were you good?” 

“Lacrosse? No, mostly I just warmed the bench. I mean, first line was mostly wolves by junior year and Danny in goal. But I played once our sophomore year and won the game.” Stiles smiled at the memory. 

Derek’s face was open and engaged. Warm and interested in what he was saying in a way that Stiles hadn’t seen on his own Derek’s face until nearly the end. He thought maybe moments like that could be payment enough. Assurance that he’d chosen correctly.

Laura looked at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “So how old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?” 

“I’ve actually been thinking about that. I mean. In my timeline my nineteenth birthday was a couple of weeks away. But now it’s almost nine months away. So am I nineteen in two weeks or nineteen in nine months? Or am I nine?”

“Definitely not nine.” Derek said quietly.

“No. I think we should celebrate both, just in case,” Laura said. “In a couple weeks, because from your point of view that’s nineteen, and then in December when it really comes around.” 

“That seems like a lot of birthdays,” Stiles said doubtfully.

Derek rolled his eyes, “She just wants more cake.” 

“I like cake!” Laura said enthusiastically. “Cake is the best. The world needs more cake.” 

Derek laughed and slapped at his sister, but his eyes slipped back to Stiles for a moment and held onto his, before they both looked away. Stiles turned to the fridge and pulled out some eggs and bacon and was looking for a pan when Talia walked in.

“Good morning Stiles,” she said pleasantly, then turned to Derek and Laura. “Are you both sure you’re ready to go back?” 

“Yes mom,” Laura said, and Derek added, “It’ll only be worse if we wait.” 

“Alright, well, if anything happens call me. I’m working from home today, no court.” 

Laura leaned into her mother, and Derek started to hold back but Talia reached out and pulled him in close. Derek seemed to flinch at first, but then leaned into his alpha and sister. 

After they rushed out the door, Stiles turned to Talia, “Have you eaten?” he asked. 

“No, usually I’m up and gone already, but I slept in today.” 

“I’ll make you some eggs if you like, how much bacon?” 

“You know werewolves Stiles, I can eat as much as you cook,” she said with a wide smile and they both relaxed a bit.

As they ate, Talia filled him in on the plans with Satomi and the Talbot alpha. 

“Should I tell them they were dead in my timeline?” 

“I thought you knew Satomi?” 

“I did. She was killed after my senior year during the crazy hunters taking over the town thing.” 

“If they ask. It’s uncomfortable, but they should know if they ask.” 

“Okay.”There was a hesitation before he added, “I went out to the nemeton last night,” he finally said. 

“Be careful around that tree, there’s something dark and corrupted at its heart,” Talia said looking at him. “My father and his emissary tried to bind it so the evil could be drained, but it’s only grown stronger as the tree grew weaker.”

Stiles was stunned. “An emissary did that?” he said, horrified. “An emissary twisted the convergence?” 

She looked at him, “You understand what was done?” 

He nodded, “I mean, generally, yes. The ley lines are twisted, the telluric currents warped away. I can’t imagine how it was done, but I could read the effects well enough.”

She took a drink of her tea. “The records aren’t clear what was done. Deaton has avoided it because of the corruption, and whatever happened my father has refused to talk about it and it killed his emissary to do.” A heartbeat passed before she added “It’s also the night I became the pack alpha.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, thinking. A thousand branches of possibility spun out from that, “You were a born alpha weren’t you?” he asked and she nodded. “So you’d have naturally risen to power when he lost his spark.” 

“Yes. That’s what happened. Again, he’s never talked about it, just said it was the price of the power to protect us all.” 

“And you said it’s made the corruption worse?” 

“Well, it’s gotten worse.” 

Stiles thought before saying. “I don’t know much about how the nogitsune was trapped, but I wonder what the effect of depowering the tree had on its imprisonment.” 

“Wait, the one that possessed you? What does the nemeton have to do with the nogitsune?” 

Stiles gave her a confused look, “It was bound under the nemeton. I think the nemeton was used to imprison it.” 

She gave him a horrified look, “So the corruption that we’ve all sensed was the result of the nogitsune.” 

“I’m not sure what you’ve sensed, but it was probably the nogitsune. Once it was gone in my time the stupid tree was fine. Angry and dark, but that was because of what had been done to it, and the way the power was used to awaken it. The tree itself isn’t corrupted.” 

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “Dealing with that thing was 40 years of pack history. It called things to itself. Darachs and dark spirits. We had a tribe of Hecesiitehii in the preserve for months when I was a teenager, and even a mishipeshu once.” 

“I don’t even know what those are,” Stiles said. 

“Cannibalistic dwarves and a voracious and aggressive river monster,” Talia said. 

Stiles looked at her, “And I thought I lived in the worst timeline.” 

“Considering I was dead in yours, I’d say it was still the worst timeline,” Talia said with a smirk and a pat on his hand. 

“Oh my god, you’re where Derek’s sarcasm comes from!” Stiles said with an awed expression. “You’re a low-key sasswolf too.” He shook his head and grinned. “That answers the question of how the nemeton got this way. But why wasn’t it that way in my timeline? I mean, I didn’t see it before Jennifer-Julia started killing all my teachers, but-” he paused, thinking about the ritualistic sacrifices the darach had performed to jump start the nemeton. They hadn’t been at the convergence itself, but on the ley lines and along the telluric currents that fed the convergence. “Oh my god,” he said. “I think I know what happened.” 

“Your darach?” 

“It has to be. I wonder who I could ask? Deaton might know.”

“It’s unlikely. I picked him because he didn’t know much about nemetons or convergence zones.” 

“Well that isn’t helpful. Do you know any really smart emissaries?” 

She was quiet as she eyed him speculatively. “I do,” she finally said. 

“Please tell me they’re not the emissary of like, a mortal enemy or something? Is it someone we can trust?”

“She’s the emissary to Deucalion,” Talia said, still watching him. 

“Morrell,” he breathed. 

She nodded. “She approached me before she started working with Deucalion. She’s-“ she paused, clearly searching for the right words, “she’s very gifted. The type of emissary the territory needed when the nemeton was active.” 

“I’ve never been sure if she’s trustworthy,” Stiles replied. “We have a bit of a history.” He paused, “To be fair, when she threatened to kill me I was possessed by a thousand year old chaos demon. So yeah, maybe she had good reason, and I shouldn’t be so prejudiced. Plus, she was surprisingly helpful during the alpha pack.” He tilted his head from side to side, “And she did give much better advice than Deaton ever did.” 

“She’s living in Beacon Valley,” Talia said. “Alan can get you her phone number.” 

“I wish I could just know who to trust,” he said with a sigh.

“Generally I think of emissaries as trustworthy.” She replied, “They’re devoted to maintaining balance, but other than that they’re very good at giving insightful advice.” 

He grew quiet, thinking about Morrell who had never seemed interested in the nemeton, so she could probably be trusted to be honest if he asked her. “I’ll talk to her,” he said, “Before I go to New York.” 

“Good,” she said looking down at her phone, “now go take a shower, Peter is headed this way.” 

Stiles sighed. “I guess there’s no rest for the wicked.” 

She gave him a smile and said, “Thank you for breakfast.” 

He smiled back.

Stiles pulled some of the clothes he’d bought with the money Peter had given him and his old Converse, and grabbed his notes off the desk where he’d left them before heading back downstairs. 

“Stuart!” Peter said, with a delighted tone that was so familiar Stiles smiled. 

“Good morning,” Stiles said. “It’s going to take me ages to stop calling you zombie-wolf.” 

“Well, there’s always a price to pay. My sister tells me I missed a fine breakfast, I’m hurt you didn’t save me any.” 

“You snooze, you lose,” Stiles said with a shrug. 

“I was waiting on the courier with your new completely legitimate birth certificate.” 

“Is my birthday still December 17th?” Stiles asked.

“It is,” Peter said. “Even the time is the same. Just now says you were born in 1987.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Your school records and vital statistics are all changed, debit and credit cards are ordered, though here’s a temporary debit card for now. Plus your driver's license.” He set the thick packet down. “Your social security card won’t arrive for a couple of weeks, but the number is in there. Also, the next time you need a false identity please give me some heads up so we can do this the usual way and steal you an identity rather than making one up from scratch, it’s much easier.” 

“Holy crap,” Stiles breathed, impressed, “This is way better than the fake id I had in high school.” 

“This needs to pass the background check the Sheriff's department will run sometime this week.” 

“Fair enough. And the next time will you teach me how it’s done?” 

“Money is the universal language Stiles,” Peter said with a smile. 

“You’re still so completely like my Peter sometimes, it’s scary,” Stiles laughed.

Talia laughed softly. “Thank you Peter,” she said. “Do you want to stay for the meeting with the alphas?” 

“No. I’m afraid Talbot is still annoyed about that little misunderstanding with his daughter.” 

Talia sighed, and Peter smirked and shrugged. 

“Plus, I am heading to San Francisco to follow up on a lead about that missing Emissary from Imperial county.” 

“Be careful,” Talia cautioned and Peter rolled his eyes but he also wore a fond smile. 

“Though I want to hear all about this place Stiles found before I go.” 

Both Hales looked at Stiles and his mouth went a little dry. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. You spent a lot of money and time already, it’s fine.” 

“Stiles,” Talia said patiently, “You deserve your own place, even if you decide to stay in the house most of the time. Tell us about it.” 

“So it’s downtown. It’s this building Derek, my Derek, bought and renovated into lofts. Of course he never got around to renovating his own loft, but yeah. The building is empty now. It’s huge, like 7 floors, but maybe I can rent just the one loft.” He avoided looking up at either of them. He knew that they’d be able to put two and two together about the loft’s importance. 

“Leave me the address and I’ll look into who owns it and get it set up,” Peter said, more gently than Stiles had ever heard Peter Hale speak. 

Stiles nodded, weirdly embarrassed and feeling very vulnerable in the moment. “Okay. Yeah. I can do that,” he said, then changed the subject. “So I’ve been putting together a list of like, you know, to-do things.” He flipped open his notepad. “Obviously first up is Gerard. And the police should be taking care of that. But if not, well, I’ll find him, and do the whole ‘spread his ashes across four continents’ thing.” 

“That seems excessively thorough,” Peter said archly. 

“I’ve learned to be thorough with Argents.” His eyes narrowed. “Speaking of, is Victoria the matriarch already or is the old lady still alive? Honestly I can’t remember her name. Gerard’s mother.” 

“Genevieve,” Talia said with a nod. “She’s alive.” 

“Hmmm. Well. A problem for another day. I imagine Chris will be slinking around town soon enough.” 

“From your notes I expected Chris to not be a problem,” Talia said. “I’ve never met him.” 

“He’s a follower,” Stiles said with a shrug, “like most of the Argent men. He’s been trained to obey not to think. And I’ve read the Argent histories, so I know exactly how bloody Genevieve is. She’s a slight improvement on Victoria, but only slightly.” 

“Is there anyone you don’t see as a threat?” Talia asked, clearly troubled.

“You,” Stoles said instantly. “Your pack. My dad.” He was quiet for a moment. “Probably not Satomi or the Talbot alpha.” He fell silent after that.

Both Talia and Peter gave him looks of concern, and he shrugged and quipped, “It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you.”

Peter rolled his eyes and stood up, “I need to get going to make it to San Francisco.” He picked up the address for the loft that Stiles had written down and made a strange face, then patted Stiles on the shoulder and left. 

Stiles picked up his new driver’s license and stared at it. He didn’t feel any different, for all that he was officially someone new. He wondered what Stuart’s life would have been like if he’d really existed. Probably no werewolves. No nemeton or time travel or Argents or all of the loss. He’d probably have been ordinary, one of the people Stiles sat next to in classes where he’d wonder how people didn’t see all the craziness that surrounded them. 

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like?” he asked Talia before he clarified, “To be one of the people who just go about their day. They don’t live in all this craziness. No werewolves or nogitsune or evil Argents or any of the rest of it.” 

She was quiet, and he wondered what she was thinking about, but then she said, “They do live in the same world though. They share space with us. Our lives do intersect with theirs. My client’s lives are changed, sometimes wildly by their interactions with a werewolf. We’re not defined by what we are but by what we do.” 

He thought about what she said but there was something about it that didn’t quite sit right. 

“You don’t agree?” she said. 

“I don’t know. It feels different somehow.” 

“It is different, but it’s a matter of choice. When your friend Scott was bit, he had a choice, you both had a choice to get involved or not. You both chose to. It may have felt like the only choice you could make, but that’s because of who you are. Most of the time our decisions are like that.” 

“It wasn’t like-“ he started to say, and then really thought about it. Because he could see it. Agreeing to help Derek, however reluctantly, had been a choice. At the time it seemed the only one, but looking back he realized that it wasn’t actually inevitable, just the only choice he’d be able to live with. He thought about Scott and how much he’d resisted at first, and wondered if Scott’s decisions would have been different in the beginning if he’d not had Stiles prodding him along. Would they all have been better off? Safer? 

“Think about it.” Talia said, getting up and brushing her hand against his arm as she passed by. 

He went upstairs and switched into running shorts and shoes. He needed to move and stop thinking, and to sweat out some of the anxiety that was building up. He told Talia he was going for a run in the Preserve and headed out, whispering a proximity charm as he did so. It would wear off fairly soon, but would let him know if someone got too close. 

After he’d run a couple of miles and started to feel the burn, he let the nemeton act as a beacon, steering far away from the tunnel entrance to the preserve, trying to avoid problems and just let the pounding of his feet leach the anxiety away. He turned down an unfamiliar path that looked to loop back towards the house and felt the slight brush of a presence against his proximity charm, but he could tell from the touch that it was a wolf keeping pace with him. He smiled and wondered if it was Robert or Samuel. 

The path wound through the preserve and he felt the third mile pass and finally felt clear of the anxious cloud that had been building all day. The path turned away from the direction he wanted, so he started keeping watch for a new path, finally the path turned back towards the house, and the fourth mile passed into the fifth. He slowed to a jog and then to a walk to give his body time to deal with the building toxins. After a few minutes he felt better and started to pick the pace back up. 

He knew when the path cut him close to the house, and when he thought he’d reached the closest point he turned and started through the trees. As he did so he felt the presence of the wolf again, but again couldn’t get a sense of who it was before it faded away. He crested a hill and could see the house through the trees, he slowed back to a walk and broke the tree line and realized he had emerged near one of the outbuildings he’d seen but hadn’t yet explored. 

As he got closer, one of the doors opened and Robert emerged, followed by Samuel who waved at him. Stiles turned and looked back into the trees, wondering who had been following him in the woods. 

He felt Robert approach and turned to look at him. “Good run?” The man said. 

“Yeah.” Stiles said. “Is—Talia’s father— here?” 

“No, he left for Seattle this morning, why?” 

“I’m trying to figure out who was pacing me in the woods,” Stiles replied. 

“You couldn’t see them?” 

“No. And I know Talia is in the house, and the kids are at school.”

“Cora,” Samuel said, coming closer. “Cora’s home. We decided to wait until Argent is caught before sending her back. I’m taking her to the library this afternoon, but she’s been sneaking around all morning.” 

“She’s good,” Stiles said, impressed. “I didn’t hear her, I didn’t see her.” 

“She’s a wily one.” Samuel said with a broad approving smile that reminded him so much of his Derek’s rare genuine smile.

“Magic?” Robert asked.

“Yeah, a proximity charm. It only lasts an hour or so, but it’s super helpful. I wish I’d known it when everything was going to hell.” 

“Deaton didn’t teach it to you?” 

“No, I learned it from a witch I met around a year ago. I’d already figured out there was a problem with my spark. She taught me a bunch of spells that used ambient magic rather than my spark. Deaton was pissed, apparently he has some grudge against witches, but those charms are incredibly helpful.“ 

“I’ve never heard him badmouth witches, but there’s not many left in the territory since the nemeton was depowered.” 

“She was the first I’d met.” He felt the sweat dripping down his shoulders. “Ugh. I need a shower.” He nodded before he walked back into the house. 

  
  


After he showered and got dressed he did some work in the library. Reading pack histories and trying to find the beginning of the problems with the nemeton to confirm it was when he thought. Just as he was getting to the right section, Talia tapped on the door and opened it, letting him know the alphas had arrived. 

Feeling relaxed after his run, he bounced down the stairs after Talia, “Is there anything I should do or not do?” he asked her.

“These are close allies,” Talia said, “So it will be a casual meeting, nothing formal.” 

“Okay, just wanted to make sure. We never really got a Pack 101 lecture. Mostly it was ‘this is how not to die 101.’” 

Talia smiled and patted his shoulder. “You’ll do fine.” She opened the front door as Satomi and Talbot were climbing the stairs, and she quickly ushered them inside. Stiles caught a glance of Robert and Samuel talking in earnest with several vaguely familiar wolves from the other packs that he recognized from the night before. But none of them followed the alphas into the house, and he realized that they were here as an escort rather than as bodyguards and it really revealed how comfortable the three alphas were with each other.

Talia led the way back up the stairs to the library he’d just left, and Stiles hurried to clear up the books he’d left scattered across the table and stack them out of the way. Talia offered the alphas coffee or tea which they declined, and they all took a seat. 

She looked around the table, and Stiles could see that she was trying to decide where to start. He relaxed into the chair to watch how she handled the other alphas. 

Satomi took the opportunity to look at Stiles, and he couldn’t quite decide what the long look meant. 

“Deucalion is becoming more paranoid,” the Talbot alpha said without preamble, “Another of his betas has gone missing.” 

Talia nodded. “Andrea Baker. Peter brought the file with him this morning.” 

“Are we sure they aren’t just leaving him?” Satomi asked. 

“This one has a human husband and two human children. He reported she went missing on Thursday,” Talia said. 

“That is concerning,” Satomi said. “The other three could have been normal attrition from an unstable pack.” 

“Plus the three that we know have challenged him, including his second, Marco.” 

“Seven pack members in barely six months?” Talbot asked, “What is the man thinking? Soon he won’t even have a pack.” 

“That’s his plan,” Stiles said, and the three alphas turned to look at him.

“His plan is to be an omega alpha?” Talbot asked. 

“He wants to build a new kind pack. A pack of alphas,” Stiles explained. 

Satomi leaned forward. “This is something you know from your future?” she asked. 

Stiles nodded. “We encountered him our junior year. He came back to town for Derek and Scott.” 

“Scott is who?” Talbot asked. 

“My best friend. He’s how I got into the whole werewolf supernatural business. How I met Derek. Well, again. They wanted Derek because of the Hale alpha thing, and Scott because he was rising as a true alpha.” 

“True alphas?” Satomi said, “they’re a myth.” 

“Pardon, but they’re not. I watched it. I watched him. He broke through a mountain ash circle. His eyes had been gold, and then they were red.” 

“That wasn’t in your notes,” Talia said. 

Stiles shrugged. “Sorry, my notes were mostly geared toward the dangers, especially the Argents, not the rest of it.” 

“Argents,” Talbot said with a light growl. “A plague.” 

“They really are,” Stiles said with a nod. 

“Hunters are a needed counterweight to the supernaturals,” Satomi said. “A necessary evil.” 

“They’re a cure that’s worse than the complaint,” Stiles said. “Take the Killian Pack in Fresno, for example. Hunters come in, take out a bad alpha, and I acknowledge he was terrible. And in the process maybe they by ‘accident’ also take out part of the pack. But these accidents always focus on the leaders, alpha and heir are both lost. So you get a new alpha with no training, or the spark is lost altogether and you have a beta pack reeling from the loss of their friends and family. So the hunters come back to establish ‘stability’ and end up taking out a few more. More often than not by the time they’re done, most if not the whole pack is lost. This isn’t by chance. It’s slow motion extinction, and neighboring packs are sad but go along because they don’t see that this was the end goal all along.” 

“You think the end goal is genocide?” Talbot asked with an obvious skepticism.

“I’ve read the Argent records. 300 years of perfecting how to destroy a pack, and eliminate the wolves. In my time I knew of a dozen packs Kate took out in the same way,” he paused looking at Talbot, “including yours.” 

Everyone at the table froze. Talbot sat forward. “Mine?” he asked softly. 

Stiles nodded. “In my time, when I first met Brett, he was one of Satomi’s betas. He’d surrendered the alpha power he inherited to her in exchange for safety because he wasn’t prepared to be an alpha. When I heard his story, he mentioned the older woman he’d been seeing. It was Kate Argent.” 

Satomi looked troubled behind the facade of calm she struggled to maintain. 

“But why?” Talbot asked.

“The only good wolf is a dead one,” Stiles said simply. 

“How did we miss the change in their philosophy?” Talia asked. 

“It’s not a change,” Stiles said, “Not for you. Maybe for Satomi, I didn’t really get into the records from before they left Massachusetts.” 

“I remember when the Argents first came west,” Talbot said. “The Calaveras had been weakened by a nest of Wendigo and so when the Argents were looking to come west the Calaveras retreated back south.” 

“The Calaveras are slightly better, but Araya and Genevieve are friends, so I wouldn’t look for help there, and don’t take my word. Reach out to the alphas you know. Create a map by decade and you’ll see what I mean. Packs tend to be insular. It’s why Deucalion was dangerous to them. He wasn’t a traditionalist, he had new ideas and he wanted the packs to work together. I suspect that might be why Gerard tipped his hand to take him out.” 

Talia nodded. “He had talked to me about it. He thought there were new solutions for a new era. Ways to organize that didn’t interrupt pack sovereignty but allowed us to keep closer tabs on larger events.”

“Once the Argents are dealt with, my immediate concern with the hunters is over, but long term I truly believe they are an existential threat to all packs.” Stiles added. “And it’s one that most packs have been blind to.” 

Talbot looked troubled, and Satomi had renewed her poker face. 

“Maybe we should reach out to the other local packs once the problem of Deucalion is dealt with,” Talia said, and the other two nodded an agreement with her. 

“What is your plan for dealing with him?” Stiles asked. 

“I don’t see a solution,” Talbot said. “He’s unstable and getting worse. He needs to be replaced.” 

“But interfering in another pack,” Satomi shook her head. “This is not our way.” 

“It’s going to be a bloodbath,” Stiles said. “Even seven wolves down he still has one of the largest packs in the area. You’ve got him unstable, plus the Argents. When do you turn and look outward from your own pack?” 

Satomi turned to him, “And what is your suggestion? To kill the alpha and replace him with another? Is the answer always death with you?”

“No,” Stiles replied, leaning forward. “I want to try to help him if we can.” 

“What’s your suggestion?” Talbot asked. 

“I don’t have one yet,” Stiles admitted. “I want to talk to Deaton and Morrell. I have some ideas, but I don’t know him that well. He was our enemy mostly, but he was an ally later, when things were worse.” 

Satomi gave him a searching look, and he said, “I know what you think I am. You think I’m impetuous and hot headed, that I jump into things before I understand the nuance.” 

“That’s a lot of things to assume on my behalf.” Satomi replied. 

“You made your opinions clear in my timeline,” Stiles said with a shrug. “And you’re not wrong. But we waited until things were hopeless before, and there were no easy solutions left. But it doesn’t have to be. Deal with Deucalion now, and he won’t be a threat in the future. Here, now, I can be ahead of the curve. I can-, we can fix things before they’re a losing battle.” 

Satomi gave him that expressionless look again, and said, “It is hard to tell the difference between acting preemptively and acting rashly. Between foolhardiness and boldness. I need to think about which this is.” 

“I’m not saying act today. Or even tomorrow. Just that we start thinking about action and planning for possibilities,” Stiles said. 

She nodded at him, and he looked back at his notepad. “So for the local packs that I know of, there’s you three, plus Deucalion, Kali, and Ennis, plus the Primal pack, are there others?” 

“The primal pack?” Talbot said, “I don’t know this one.” He looked at the other two alphas who shook their heads as well.

“Like werewolf survivalists? Live in the deep woods beyond the Preserve.” He shrugged, “Honestly they died before I really found out much about them.” 

“Do you mean the Finch pack?” Talia asked. 

“Yeah, I guess. Mrs Finch taught AP Bio and she was one of them,” Stiles said. “Her daughter is Quinn?”

“The Finches,” Talia nodded. “I guess ‘survivalists’ isn’t a terrible description. They’re odd. Separatists. Rather than anchoring their wolf in their humanity they embrace the wolf more fully.” 

“So different philosophies?” Stiles asked. 

“Yes. You can say that.” 

“Any others?” 

“The Rose Pack and the Aguilars,” Talbot said, “though they’re both further north than even Ennis.” 

“Okay. Anyone have a particularly good relationship with any of them?” 

Talia nodded. “The Aguilars are friends with my father. And he’s got a good relationship with Angela Finch as well. Ennis has asked my help with pack matters in the past. He’s bitten and not born, so he doesn’t always understand the intricacies of Pack.” 

“The Roses are cousins of a sort,” Talbot said.

“Okay. So let’s try and get some sort of meeting together about the hunter problem, and we can slide the Deucalion problem into the mix when everyone’s together. See if we can work out a solution?” 

Satomi gave him another unreadable look, and nodded after hesitating. Talia and Jonathan agreed as well.

“There’s another wrinkle in this. Kali is short an emissary now. I mentioned it last night, and it was in my notes as well, but the woman I knew as Jennifer Blake the Darach, was Kali’s emissary, Julia Baccari. And she was here the night of the attack.” 

“Is Kali working with the hunters then?” Talbot asked. 

“I’m not sure. Honestly I think Morrell can give me a better idea of how things work there. Kali is one of the alphas that will join Deucalion in my timeline. But I don't know her when she’s not a little crazy.” 

“I’m not sure any of us know her when she’s not a little crazy,” Talia added, confirming Stiles' belief that she was a sass-wolf like her son. “She is volatile and hard to predict.” 

“How is she going to take the death of her emissary, and do we tell her?” Stiles asked. 

No one answered until Satomi, unexpectedly said, “There is no advantage to telling her. While an emissary is not a part of the pack, now is not the time to add another unpredictable element to what is already in motion.” 

“Plus,” Talia added, “It will be interesting to see how she reacts to Baccari’s apparent disappearance. Does she act like she knew where Baccari was, or does she not?”

“Which will answer who exactly was working with the hunters,” Satomi answered.

“And on that note, I need to get going. I’m still supposed to stop in for a meeting at the office this afternoon,” Talbot said, standing up. He turned to Stiles and said with a smile, “I still want to talk to you about that future of yours.”

“Next time,” Stiles said. He turned to the other guest. “Sa- Alpha Ito,” Stiles said as she started to rise, and she looked at him. “Can we talk for a few minutes before you go?” 

Her face gave away nothing but she nodded and sat back down. 

“I tried to ask you about Noshiko yesterday, but you cut me off.” 

She nodded and said, “What do you know of her?”

Stiles shrugged, “She's a kitsune. An old one. You met in the internment camp. She summoned a nogitsune but it didn’t work out like she planned and you two captured it and imprisoned it under the nemeton. You went on to become an alpha, and she ended up meeting Ken a few decades later and having Kira.” 

Satomi looked at him, concern etched across her face. “So you know everything?” 

“Not everything. But a lot. There are parts of the story I don’t think I ever got.” 

“How do you know about the nogitsune?” 

“It possessed me,” Stiles said. “It got out. The nemeton was too weakened to contain it. There were some other things going on, but it-“ he ran out of words, the memories of that terrible time racing through him. “We got it out, and found a new way to hold it. But it left things behind. Memories. Power. It’s been worse since I’ve been here. I need to know what’s happening to me.” 

Satomi was silent and then started, “I grew up near Osaka before I came here. When I was a girl one of the wealthiest men in our town took up with another man’s wife. She was very beautiful but the couple was much poorer than the wealthy man.” She paused before continuing, “The poor man found out, and killed the rich man, and then killed his beautiful wife. The rich man’s brother killed the poor man, and then a cousin killed him, until both families were nearly wiped out. The rich man’s wife, however, emerged unharmed. She was an ordinary looking woman most of the time, but sometimes, when I saw her just right out of the corner of my eye, I could see the Fox within.” 

Stiles had been listening to the story unsure of where it was going but then took in a surprised breath.

“My family was not particularly rich but also not poor, so this didn’t really affect us, but there was bad blood between my family and the poor man’s family. One day I had an opportunity to talk to the rich man’s wife, and I asked what kind of Fox she was, because I knew the old stories, and recognized what she must be. She asked me how I recognized her, and I told her, and she asked me what I was planning to do with what I knew.”

Satomi sat back further into her seat. “If I had been wiser, I would never have told her what I knew. If I was more foolish, I might have told other people. When she asked, I told her I didn’t have any plans, only curiosity. She nodded, and she told me about meeting her husband and how she’s fallen in love, but how she’d grown angry when he took up with the other woman. She asked if I wanted help getting a husband, and I told her I wanted to see the world. A few months later she sent a letter to my home, that if I wanted to see the world a certain ship was leaving from Osaka harbor headed to America and she would make sure there was a place on it if I wished to go.” She paused.

“Is that when you left?” 

Satomi grew quiet again and then said, “Not on that ship. I sent back a note, telling her I wasn’t ready. But a few months later, she sent me another note. My mother had started to talk to me about husbands. Not that I’d have my choice, but I think she was trying to prepare me. When the second letter came, with the name of the second ship, I said yes. And days later I slipped out of the house one night, leaving a note saying I’d gone north where we had distant family, and I’d write.” She hesitated. “What I did was shameful to my family, but it was a small scandal that would be lost amid the blood feud. The Fox gave me some money to get me started when I got here, and wished me luck. Months later, after I’d settled in, I sent my parents a letter. When I finally got a reply, it was from our old neighbor. The week after the ship sailed a sudden illness had swept through the house, taking the lives of my parents and brothers in just a few nights. My whole family was gone.” 

Stiles hadn’t been prepared for this turn and drew in a heavy breath and said, “Was it her?” 

Satomi shrugged. “I don’t know.” She was silent a moment. “I have always suspected that she was ensuring that no one else knew her secret. But it could have been some pestilence as well. But this is my point, with Foxes you will never know.” 

“You’re telling me to be careful?” 

“I’m telling you that Foxes are tricky. That they are dangerous as a friend or an enemy.”

Realization dawned on him, “You’re not actually friends with her.” 

Satomi grew still before nodding. “I do not wish her ill, but I also do not wish her here.” 

Stiles nodded. “She’s still my best hope to figure out what’s going on with me.” 

Satomi looked at him, “Be careful with her. She’s old and crafty.” After a hesitation she added, “Another thing about Foxes, do not expect wisdom from her, it’s not in their nature. They can fall in love with the trick they’re plotting and get carried away, and they’re always selfish and secretive.”

Stiles realized as he absorbed what she said that he’d always been disappointed that Noshiko had been more interested in her own game with the nogitsune than helping out. Moving pieces into and out of play like two players on the Go board. 

“Are you saying I shouldn’t talk to her?” He asked. 

“No, I’m saying you shouldn’t trust her blindly,” Satomi said with a heavy look, and Stiles nodded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is this almost 7000 words of dialogue? Good grief.  
It feels like this chapter took forever to write, but it’s because I’ve written a good portion of both 9 and 10 already as well, because chapter 10 is important for a couple of reasons.  
The shape of the full story is also a lot clearer to me, and I wrote what might be the final couple of lines the other day. It feels like the right way to end it at any rate.  
It’s still a long long ways away, because I’m guessing this is 40ish chapters long (though just in the writing what I thought would be covered by chapter 8 now runs from 8-10, so who knows. I’m comfortable saying it’ll break 200k, I’m not saying it won’t hit 300k.  
It’s still all Snowqueenlou’s fault.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos give me joy and motivate me to write (and occasionally guilt me to write when I’m being really lazy).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably thought I had disappeared didn’t you?  
I’m sorry. This chapter has been mostly done for ages, but Lou had given some feedback that I agreed with but couldn’t figure out how to fit into the chapter. Honestly, she basically held my hand to get it right, but here it is.  
I want to start to give you a heads up now, I’m going to push through and you’ll get the next 3-4 chapters before Stiles leaves for New York fairly fast, but as soon as he gets on the plane I’m going to take a short hiatus while I go finish ‘Call of the Night’ and ‘I am not iron man’ to have both of those done, because I’ve got three Fandom Trumps Hate stories to get done this year, and I need the brain space to get them written.  
As a bonus, the long time being stuck on this chapter gave me a lot of time to flesh out some major chapters further into the story, as well as large chunks of 10 and 11.  
Without further yammering, here you go!

After Satomi left, Stiles wandered the house until he found Talia in her office. She glanced up when he slumped into the chair across from him.

“Did you hear?” he asked. 

“I was trying not to, I thought you might want privacy.” 

“I might have misjudged the friendship between them. It’s more ‘cautious allies’ than friendship.” 

“But you’re still going to go see her?” 

“She’s still my best lead to figuring out what’s going on with me.” 

Talia nodded. “Are you still going to go see Alan this afternoon?” 

“Yeah. I want to see Morrell as soon as possible. And I want to talk to him about the wards. I’d like to get started on getting those recast before I go see Noshiko. It takes a lunar cycle to complete, but if we get started before I go, I can be back by the time we have to cast the new moon sequence.” 

“Be careful. Gerard is still out there, and he knows Alan is my emissary.” 

He nodded. “I’ll be careful,” he said before he stood and headed up to grab his new ID and wallet. 

It was strange to pull into the parking lot at Deaton’s vet clinic and not to see Scott’s bike outside. He paused just before he walked in, and took a breath then pushed open the door. 

Deaton was at the counter finishing up with a patient's owner, and Stiles took a seat and waited. When they were done and the lady left, he looked up and smiled. “Hey doc,” he said.

“Stuart,” Deaton greeted, “You have good timing, I don’t have anything else for a couple of hours. Come have a seat.” 

Stiles stood up and stepped to the counter, when he went to lift the counter to slip behind it, he felt the slight tension of the mountain ash barrier in a way he’d never noticed before. 

“You’re noticing the barrier?” Deaton asked, and Stiles nodded. “Did you notice it before?” 

“Not like this. Before it was just a slight feeling.” 

“And now?” 

“It’s stronger. I can feel it trying to hold me back.” 

“Can you pass it?” 

Stiles lifted the gate and passed through, feeling the weight of the line as he walked through. “That feels weird.” 

“Could you pass when the nogitsune possessed you before?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said. 

“Was it that the nogitsune wasn’t affected by it, or was it using your spark to pass through?” 

Stiles opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it, looking up, the way Deaton had lined up the facts made something come clear.

“That’s why it picked me,” he said. “My spark. It kept it from being trapped by the mountain ash while it was weak.” 

“It seems likely, yes,” Deaton said. “I would imagine for a supernatural creature to find an opportunity to get around the limitation of mountain ash would more than offset the added difficulty of overcoming your natural resistance to possession.” 

Stiles nodded. 

“I’m not an expert on the subject, but I imagine that it’s not the first time it’s happened,” Deaton added. “Anyway, what can I help you with today?” 

“I wanted to talk about the wards for Hale House.” 

“Yes, you were interested in trying to use a Layton configuration.” 

“They’d be more durable. Even a darach couldn’t match the power of the telluric currents.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure how you balance the wards that way,” Deaton said. “The Layton configuration is meant for a small temporary ward, stretching it over that area would take enormous power.” 

“That’s the best part. You can use the ley lines to channel the telluric surge, so the casting is actually very simple. As a bonus it creates an added layer of protection for the nemeton.” Stiles paused for a moment before continuing on, “Also, I wanted to check in with you about that. My Deaton didn’t seem particularly up on nemeton lore, was I right on that?”

“Yes, I’ve never been particularly interested in the nemeton lore. It generally concerns power and the desire to effect change, which has always seemed to be out of step with our purpose to sustain balance. Power is inherently about destabilizing balance.” 

“That actually makes a sort of sense. But where do you do your rites if you’re not using the nemeton?” 

“There’s a small grove in the preserve I usually use,” Deaton said.

“Ah ok. Sorry, just my curiosity on that one.” Stiles admitted. 

“I’m happy to help, but with your desire to switch to the Layton configuration, I should probably take the second caster position since I’m not particularly adept at spell casting large works.” 

“Can you create the physical part of the wards? My experience with catalytic binding is limited and, honestly, my spark has always been too volatile to do it right.” 

“Of course, my training covered how to construct them, and I built the ones for the clinic,” Deaton said. “Do you need a map of the convergence and currents or do you have one?” 

Stiles was surprised to learn Deaton even had a map of the convergence and the telluric currents, and he wondered why the druid hadn’t ever offered it when it was needed, since the nemeton was obviously at the convergence. “That would be great actually. It will save me the work of tracking them all down, now I’ll just need to check the ley polarities and find the right frequency matches.” 

“You didn’t get that far when we worked this out in your future?” 

“No, we had worked out how to balance them if you used the currents as a power source, but, you know, the ley line polarities will affect which catalysts work best for the wards.” 

Deaton looked thoughtful. “Yes, I can see how that makes sense. Plus if you used the wrong catalyzing agent you could accidentally affect the lines themselves.” 

“Yeah, you could warp-“ Stiles paused, “Fuck. That’s how they did it. I’m such an idiot.” 

“I’m afraid I’m not following you,” Deaton said. 

“Yeah, Sorry. I just realized a solution to a problem I’ve been working on. It’s fine. I can deal with it later. Do you still use Talizza Edom in San Francisco for materials?” 

“She’s got an excellent reputation, but I’ve never used anything other than basic quartz crystal which I ordered online. I know my sister Marin has worked with her though.” 

“I know Morrell in my timeline.” Stiles said. He added after a moment, “So I know she’s your sister and all, but how trustworthy is she?” 

“I would trust Marin with my life, as long as it didn’t violate her oaths.” Deaton replied. “Why do you ask?” 

“My experiences with her were under less than optimal conditions. She’s Deucalion’s emissary right?” 

“She is.” 

“And you examined him after Gerard took out his eyes, right?” 

“Yes. That was a tragedy. He had the vision to be a great alpha, he’s been different since that happened.” 

“Why didn’t his eyes heal?” Stiles asked. “Like, as I understand it, werewolves heal from pretty much anything. Like Derek lost a hand and it eventually regrew, though he bitched about it for a month. And Scott ripped his own eyes out at one point and they grew back. So why was Deucalion's wound worse?” 

“It’s not a matter of worse. It’s the effect of mountain ash coupled with the wolfsbane. It created the equivalent of scar tissue in the wound, so though the eyes physically grew back, the receptors are too scarred to see.” 

“But if you cut past the scar tissue, the eyes should be able to regenerate like normal, shouldn’t they?” 

“I suppose it’s possible they would.” Deaton answered, “But I wouldn’t want to gamble on it. You would have the problem of how to keep him from healing too quickly since Alphas heal incredibly fast. Plus you’d have the problem of keeping him immobile while you performed the surgery.” 

“But you think it’s possible?” 

“Possible yes. I can’t predict how likely it would be to work.” 

“Still it’s an option.” Stiles said. 

“Stuart, I know you're trying to fix the mistakes of your own timeline, but be mindful of the balance. Not everything can be repaired. Some things must still happen.” 

“You wouldn’t recommend the spell would you? The one I used.” 

Deaton hesitated, then answered. “I don’t want to second guess the decision I made in your timeline. I can’t really know the circumstances you found yourself in, or why that version of me made the choices he did. But if someone came to me today to try and unravel a past mistake, even with a willing sacrifice, I would do everything in my power to stop them.” 

Stiles was quiet for a moment, thinking about the differences between this Deaton and the one he remembered. He was having a hard time reconciling the two men and each conversation kept reinforcing that initial impression. 

“That’s fair,” Stiles finally said. “I keep thinking about the people whose lives are going to be changed for the worse by me being here. Like, do I have the right to steal all of those other lives just to rescue my friends? I thought about the lives I could save, all the people who died, but I didn’t think about how there are people who will die or lives made worse by my decision.” 

Deaton let the silence fall for a moment and Stiles was beginning to think he wouldn’t respond when he finally said, “When I was first starting my emissary training, one of the things my first teacher told me that really stuck with me was that the burden of power is responsibility.” 

“That’s from Spider-man,” Stiles said with a smile. 

“The sentiment is centuries older than that, and it was probably Churchill who inspired the Spider-man usage,” Deaton said. “Regardless, the two are inextricably linked, and through your actions the burden of responsibility is yours.” 

Stiles felt the stone weight of that responsibility to his core, and nodded. 

“But there is a corollary that is helpful as well. Power used properly results in optimal benefit, or, if you want, ‘you will know them by their fruits.’” 

“But how do I recognize what actions are right? How do I find the balance between vengeance and justice?” Stiles asked.

“You will know them by their fruits, Stuart. Strive for what benefits the most, not what benefits you.” 

“There should be a handbook for all of this,” Stiles grumbled. 

“Perhaps you’ll write one someday,” Deaton said with a smile. 

Stiles sighed. “I’m going to go. This all is making my head hurt.” 

“Let me get the map for you,” Deaton said. 

“Can I also get your sisters phone number?” Stiles asked, “I want to pick her brain about Deucalion.” 

“Of course,” Deaton said as he walked back to his office.

  
  


It was one of those gorgeous early spring days where the sun warmed everything with a promise of the summer to come, so Stiles grabbed a sandwich for a late lunch and went to Centennial Park to eat it and soak up some sun.

He found an abandoned bench and was leaning back, eyes closed trying to relax and feel normal when he felt someone settle onto the bench next to him. His eyes flew open as he turned his head, only to see the intense features of his nine-year-old self.

“Stuart!” little Stiles said. 

“Stiles!” Stiles replied, trying to duplicate his younger self’s enthusiasm. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked, “Do you not have school today either?” 

“No school for me,” Stiles answered, “I’m old. Why don’t you have school today?” 

“Doctor’s appointment,” little Stiles muttered looking away, “but my dad promised me ice cream.” He kicked at the ground.

“That sounds like a perfect day then,” Stiles replied, catching on that the little boy didn’t want to talk about it. “No school, ice cream, sunny day, and hanging with your dad.” Stiles looked around, “Where’s he at?” 

Little Stiles pointed, and Stiles realized he hadn’t noticed his dad, who was talking on the phone, because he wasn’t wearing his uniform. He watched the man hang up and turn around looking for little Stiles so he waved to get his attention, and then realized he had missed something little Stiles had said.

“Sorry buddy, what was that?” 

“I said, you should come get ice cream with us so you can have a perfect day too.” 

“We should ask your dad before you invite me along,” Stiles said fondly. It was so easy to think of little Stiles as someone not himself, because so much of what made him who he was hadn’t happened here, and never would. It was harder to not think of dad as his dad. And watching the man walk closer blurred reality for him. 

“When I said stay close, I meant close to me,” his dad said with a sigh as he drew closer. The man looked exhausted, and Stiles noticed the signs of those days he remembered as the worst, when his dad had struggled with booze and fell into a well of missing his wife.

“But I saw Stuart, and Stuart is safe,” Stiles protested with a nine-year-old’s logic. 

“Little guy, you don’t know me well enough to trust I’m safe,” Stiles said to his younger self, “I mean, I don’t think I’m dangerous or a bad guy,” and boy wasn’t that a lie, “but don’t assume someone is safe because you recognize them.” 

Stiles looked up in time to catch his dad looking at both of them with a familiar sort of pride. “He came to invite me to ice cream,” he said to his dad.

The man smiled a little, “He’s been talking about you pretty much non-stop. His friend Scott is pretty sure he made you up.” 

“I like it, I’ve made it to invisible friend status. Does this get me out of jury duty?”

“Have you had jury duty?” 

“Well no, but if I tell them I’m a nine-year-old’s invisible friend I imagine I’ll get out of it,” Stiles said with a lopsided grin.

His dad smiled slightly, and the shift in his expression brought home to Stiles that this was his father in the immediate aftermath of his mother’s death. “C’mon both of you, let's go grab some ice cream.” Before he’d even finished speaking little Stiles was off like a shot. “Not too far Stiles!” his dad said with a raised voice.

They walked towards Shaker’s Ice Cream Shop, with little Stiles running ahead until he stopped to talk to a lady walking her dog, after a moment he leaned in cautiously and started petting it. Stiles watched him carefully and asked how things were going. 

“Now that they know the Argent woman is using an assumed name they’re checking into the rest of the other perps. So the judge denied bail at this time.” 

“That’s great!” Stiles said. “I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“My phone has been going nonstop and I should be at the office today, but it was the only day his doctor could get him in.” 

“Is everything okay?” Stiles asked, trying to remember anything serious that had happened after his mom's death.

“He’ll be okay. We-“ his dad paused, then said, “his mom died a few months ago, so he’s been seeing someone.” 

And with a shock, Stiles remembered. Those visits were agonizing. The shrink asking questions and Stiles refusing to talk about her. They’d gone on for months. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Stiles said faintly, the platitude heavy on his tongue.

His dad nodded, face grim again. 

“So the ice cream is a reward for going?” 

“It’s a reward for not terrorizing his poor therapist,” his dad admitted. “The first one we tried wasn’t ready for him to take a swing at her.” 

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, mortified as that memory surfaced.

“He’s a good kid, but it’s been tough on him.” 

Another aspect of the memories rose up, “Since it was his mother that passed, have you considered a male therapist? If he’s having a problem connecting with them, maybe it’s that on some level he feels they’re trying to replace her?” 

His dad gave him an appraising look and he shrugged. “It’s just a thought.” 

“It’s a good one actually,” his dad agreed. “You pay attention to things, and put facts together surprisingly well, why are you not following in your dad's footsteps?” 

“It’s complicated,” Stiles answered. “When I was little that’s all I wanted. Then, in high school, things changed, and other things started to become important.” He didn’t want to lie to his dad, but for obvious reasons he couldn’t explain better.

“I hope whatever you decide to do, that you put that brain to work, and don’t become a lawyer.” 

Stiles laughed. “I’m definitely safe from that. I’m not sure what I’ll do now. Peter wants me to work for him for a while and I think I might. It’s not what I ever saw myself doing, but I like that it’s flexible and mobile. I’m going to be doing some traveling soon, and flexible is going to be a necessity.”

“Other than cause trouble and act suspicious I’ve never been quite sure exactly what Peter Hale does.” 

“Oh you nailed it, he mostly causes trouble and acts suspicious,” Stiles said with a laugh. ”No in all seriousness, he mostly manages the Hale trust. He even went to law school, and passed the bar, but I don’t think he practices much outside of family stuff.” 

“How did you meet?” 

Stiles laughed. “God that’s a complicated question. I guess the simplest answer is to say we were both trying to figure out opposite ends of a mystery, even though we were sort of working at odds to each other. Eventually I realized he wasn’t totally a bad guy, well, at least not THE bad guy. And months later he unexpectedly reappeared and we started to work together when other problems kind of shoved us together again.” 

“You said you aren’t dating, why did he tell us that?” 

“That’s weirdly getting back into the ‘other peoples secrets’ category, Sorry.”

“Well,” said his dad as they crossed the street and caught up with little Stiles, “for now there’s ice cream.” 

“Finally!” little Stiles said as soon as they were across the street. “What kind are you getting Stuart?” 

“There’s a lot of options, what do you think, what’s the best flavor?” 

“Banana split,” little Stiles said with certainty. “Or maybe strawberry. Or cherry.” 

“Well I see I have my choices, I guess I’ll go with strawberry.” 

“Dad gets rocky road,” Stiles confided. 

“Every time?” Stiles asked, knowing the answer.

“Every time,” little Stiles confirmed.

They gave the girl at the counter their order and Stiles watched as his dad gave his younger self some attention. He saw little Stiles relax and stop shifting around so much, focused in his father's attention. It was strange to watch the behavior people had complained about for years from the outside. The fidgety inattention and constant movement didn’t seem as severe as he’d expected, and the constant talking didn’t seem so extreme. His ADHD was obvious, but it wasn’t as terrible as he’d thought. It had changed for Stiles after the nogitsune, though it was never clear to him if it was a result of the demon or if he was just one of those kids whose presentation shifted in adulthood. 

They gathered their ice cream and walked out and back over to the park, his dad focusing on talking to little Stiles and Stiles just taking the chance to watch himself from the outside. They’d just found a bench to sit on when his dad’s phone rang again. 

He sighed as he reached for his phone. “Stilinski,” he said. After a moment he said, “Hold on.” He stood up and said to little Stiles, “Stay right here, son.”

Stiles watched a series of expressions cross little Stiles’ face, and wasn’t surprised when he saw little Stiles pitch his ice cream cone after his dad, and then watched the expression on his face shift to one of deep sorrow. “Hey,” Stiles said, getting little Stiles attention, “here.” He handed over his strawberry cone. “We can share.” Stiles got up and picked up the thrown cone and tossed it in the garbage can nearby before he sat back down. 

Little Stiles was sitting there mute, a miserable look on his face, the ice cream starting to droop slightly. 

“Today was a rough day,” Stiles said. “And your dad’s distracted while you’re supposed to be spending time together.” 

“I didn’t mean to throw it,” little Stiles finally said.

“I know. And I know you won’t throw mine. But it’s starting to drip, so you might want to do something about that.” 

Hesitantly little Stiles took a lick. Then another, while watching Stiles. The expression on his face was a sort of cautious hopefulness, and Stiles’ heart broke a little. It was hard to remember the months right after his mother’s death as anything besides the shadow of that grief.

“He’ll be right back,” Stiles said to his younger self. 

“Yeah,” little Stiles replied less certainly, and Stiles could see the cracks in his facade. Little Stiles needed his dad more than Stiles had remembered. Stiles thought about those months after his mom died, when the drinking was the worst, and just wanted to hug both of them.

Watching from the outside was harder, remembering the things he did. He knew they were on the cusp of the worst of it. When the drinking had gotten worse and worse until something, and Stiles didn’t find out until years later that it was Melissa McCall, had intervened. It hurt to know how confused and angry little Stiles was going to be and not being sure how to stop it.

He put his arm across the back of the bench and let his hand rest on little Stiles’ shoulder, just letting it act as an anchor while the boy hesitantly began to eat the ice cream.

“It’s a lot, balancing the work and being a dad all the time. But he’ll get it figured out.” Stiles knew this was true, even while he knew the real worst was still to come. He just wanted little Stiles to have some hope. The last month before his unexpected promotion to interim sheriff had been the worst. But with Melissa’s ultimatum, he’d finally pulled himself together.

Little Stiles finally turned and gave him a hopeful look but didn’t say anything.

A moment later his dad came back and picked up his ice cream, clearly pre-occupied. He took a few bites of the melting ice cream, not seeing it, not really seeing his surroundings. Not seeing little Stiles who was looking at him intently. 

“Do you need to go in?” Stiles asked, breaking the silence that was so painful to watch.

“Later. The SWAT team from Redding is due in around 6. Melissa is on days this week, so she’s going to watch Stiles this evening.” Then he realized Stiles wouldn’t know who that was and added, “his best friend's mom.” 

“Be careful tonight,” Stiles said, realizing the SWAT team was likely for Gerard. He watched closely as little Stiles started to bang his foot against the bench center support while he ate his way methodically through Stiles ice cream cone.

“I will. The SWAT team is going in first, we’re just backup.”

“Are they going in through the water treatment tunnels?” Stiles asked. “Wait, nevermind, you can’t answer that.” 

“The water treatment tunnels?” his dad asked.

“The tunnels for the water treatment plant. They stretch back under the old Argent Arms building and intersect with an older set of tunnels, which almost connect to the old smugglers tunnels that connect to the preserve.” 

“Smugglers?” little Stiles said looking up from his ice cream. “What are they smuggling? Treasure, like in the Hardy Boys?” 

“A long time ago, yeah,” Stiles answered. “But you should avoid them because people fall and get hurt all the time, and all the treasure is long gone.” 

“Oh,” little Stiles said, obviously disappointed. “I’ve read all of the Hardy Boys books at the library, and some of the Nancy Drew, but I don’t like those ones as much.” 

“Are you gonna be a detective when you grow up?” Stiles asked. 

“I’m going to be a deputy like my dad,” Stiles said confidently. 

Their dad looked troubled. “You're sure the tunnels connect to the Argent Arms building?” 

“Yeah. Wait. How do you guys not know this?” 

“We checked the tunnel maps. They shouldn’t be within 100 yards of the building.” 

“They are. There’s a ‘T’ split off the main tunnel, near Lexington Avenue. It takes an ‘L’ turn but then doubles back and goes past the Argent building. There’s a heavy metal door that opens into the basement of the building. That tunnel eventually connects up to the smuggler tunnels to the preserve. But you can tell it was kind of hacked open, it wasn’t built to connect.” 

“Crap. I don’t know how you even know that, but I should call this in,” his dad said. 

“Call. Stiles and I can walk back over to the park and I’ll watch him while you make your calls.” 

Little Stiles sighed again. Stiles felt guilty about ruining the ice cream break. They walked back across the street while his dad made his call, and Stiles noticed the shift in little Stiles attitude. 

“Want to play ‘I spy’ while we wait?” Stiles asked, knowing it had been a favorite game for far longer than it should have been when he was younger. 

Little Stiles looked up at him and some of the sadness slipped away, and he nodded back.

  
  


Stiles could see his dad had his intently listening expression, and once again he wished for a werewolf’s super hearing. Beside him, young Stiles said, “I spy with my little eye something green.” 

“Remember we said nothing like trees or grass or the sky,” Stiles said, glancing away from where his dad was talking into his phone.

“I remember,” little Stiles said. “You have three guesses.” 

“Hmmm,” Stiles said looking around. “Alright, well-“ he spotted a garish green Camaro and he said, “Is it that car?” 

Little Stiles laughed. “No, it’s not the ugly car. Guess again!” 

Stiles looked all around. No green signs, no green statues, nothing. Finally he caught sight of a woman wearing a light green scarf walking down the street. “Is it the green scarf that lady has on?” 

Stiles laughed again. “No! Two down, one more and I get a jelly bean.” 

Puzzled, Stiles looked again, and caught sight of a man in a green jacket that had been behind a black SUV. The way the man moved was eerily familiar, and his stomach started to knot. When the guy turned, he was unsurprised to see the familiar face of Chris Argent walking with an unfamiliar older woman whose identity he suspected he knew; the Argent Matriarch.

“The guy in the green jacket?” Stiles guessed, and little Stiles groaned. Stiles laughed and rubbed a hand over the kids buzz cut head. It felt so familiar and surprisingly comforting. “My turn,” he said and glanced around, catching sight of his father coming closer with a strangely serious and searching look on his face.

“Is everything okay?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah. Just some initial findings coming back.” His dad's face slid into the studied neutral face Stiles recognized as his ‘I have something to say but I’m not sure how to’ face.

“Stuart what kind of bird is that one?” little Stiles asked, and Stiles turned back around to see where Stiles was pointing.

“Ummm a hawk maybe? Honestly I have no idea,” Stiles said. “I just know it’s not a parrot, birds are not my area of expertise I’m afraid.” 

“What is your area of expertise?” his dad asked, and Stiles turned back, as little Stiles walked over to another woman walking her dog and started asking her a thousand questions about it.

“Mysteries,” he said, turning to watch little Stiles. “Cryptids, cults, dabblers in the occult, and the truly unknown,” Stiles said, as he shifted his gaze back to look at him. It was sort of true, and he wanted to start easing his dad into an inevitable conversation about the supernatural world.

“Like debunking them?” his dad asked, and for a moment Stiles recognized the look on his face, it was the skeptical face from the hospital, the face of disbelief. But behind it was something new. Something different. His dad had a mystery already, and Stiles wondered if it was the fresh memory of Ennis at the hospital, or something else.

“Sometimes. Sometimes people are making stuff up. Sometimes they see something and don’t recognize it for what it is, and think it’s magic or UFOs or Bigfoot.” 

His dad's face relaxed.

“And sometimes it truly is something beyond the everyday,” Stiles finished. Whatever happened today, his dad was going to be Sheriff soon, and Beacon Hills always had plenty of strange going on, and always would, even if the nemeton was never activated again. If something came up, he’d know who to call. He kept his eye on Chris Argent and his elderly companion who were crossing the street and into a hotel.

“I’ve never seen anything I couldn’t understand,” his dad said with more force than Stiles expected. Almost like he was willfully denying something strange. What was his dad keeping secret?

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and it will stay that way.” 

“You think I won’t be?” he replied. 

“I think this is Beacon Hills, and it is never a safe bet on it staying quiet.” 

“What got you interested in things like that?” 

“Like most other people with the interest, I encountered something I couldn’t explain,” Stiles answered truthfully.

“Did you ever figure out what it was?” his dad asked. 

“Eventually,” Stiles admitted. “But it opened my eyes to things on the edge. It’s how I met Peter actually. Trying to track down one of those mysteries.” 

“Is that how you encountered the Argents before?” 

Stiles nodded. “There’s a lot of mysterious disappearances that surround that family. Kate and Gerard are the worst, but the whole family is bad, through and through.” 

“Any idea what we’re going to find in the Argent Arms building?” 

“No idea, but I’d love to see it,” Stiles said. “I suspect there’s answers to a lot of questions I have. Plus a lot of evidence about the fire and a lot of other deaths.”

“You’re not worried we’re going to find any references to you?” his dad asked, searching his face.

Stiles turned and focused on him, “No,” he said simply, “I’m pretty confident that before I talked to Victoria I wasn’t on their radar at all.”

His dad nodded. 

“Did you think that’s what I was worried about?” 

“I’m not sure what to think,” his dad said after a moment, “I know- you’ve admitted you’re not telling me things. I’m just trying to figure it all out.” 

“The secrets I keep aren’t about anything illegal,” Stiles started, “well, not mostly.“

“I suppose you’re going to say it’s about these ‘mysteries’ of yours?”

“Sometimes,” Stiles admitted. 

“This job has taught me over the years that secrets are never a good thing.” 

“Even if the secrets protect lives?” Stiles said. “Secrets like witness protection?” Stiles took a deep breath, he didn’t mind answering his dads questions, but there was something about this conversation that was feeling like an interrogation. 

“Are you saying the Hales are in witness protection?” 

“Stop trying to dig up other people's secrets! What about-“ Stiles paused then took a breath, “I’m going to go, before I say something I’ll regret.” He got up and walked away, only stopping to say goodbye to little Stiles who was still petting the dog.

  
  


Stiles looked away from the book he was engrossed in and glanced over at his ringing phone, it took him a heartbeat to recognize the number and quickly grabbed for it. “Hello?” 

“Stuart?” a familiar voice said, “It’s Noah, I mean Deputy Stilinski. I wanted to give you an update. We have Gerard Argent in custody, and I wanted to thank you for your tip about the tunnels. It was helpful, they were ready to retreat out the tunnels but we were able to surprise them.” 

“Thank god,” Stiles said, “thank you.” 

“I may have some follow up questions for you, are you going to be around this week?” his dad asked.

“I have to go to New York for a few days starting Wednesday, but I should be back in town by Monday,” Stiles said. “Just give me a call, or if things go like they have, I’ll see you around town.” 

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready,” his dad said. 

“Thank you again deputy, have a great evening,” Stiles said and hung up.

He jumped up and shot down the stairs where the adult Hales were mostly congregating. 

“They have Gerard,” he said, barely able to contain his glee. 

“You’re sure?” Talia said. 

“My dad- the deputy, just called to let me know. He didn’t give me details, but yeah.” He slipped onto one of the barista stools at the counter next to Robert. “It’s really over.” 

Robert reached over and pulled Stiles into a half hug. Stiles started to reflexively pull back and then relaxed into it. Stiles knew that all he needed was a few years in prison to be rid of Gerard because of the cancer and spell or no spell, a natural death wouldn’t trigger it.

He listened to the Hales talk around him, but he couldn’t concentrate on the words, he just leaned into Robert and tried to grapple with the idea that the enemy he’d fought for so long was finally caught. 

He knew this wasn’t the end of the threat from hunters, particularly the Argents. But it gave him an enemy he could predict. He knew Chris. He knew his limits. And he knew that now the most important thing was to keep the Argents from doing something to get Gerard and Victoria freed. 

Tomorrow he needed to track down Chris and the Argent matriarch to have a little talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that comments and kudos really do motivate me, and I love hearing your questions. Before we post the next chapter and my own answer becomes obvious, which of the Hales is your favorite?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there’s only two chapters and an interludes chapter left before I take a short sabbatical from Shade to go finish up Call of the Night and the Iron Man stories.  
I’ve never written outside of chronological order before, so it’s weird how much of this story I’ve already written. It’s currently planned at 41 chapters, though that is almost certain to change a bit. I certainly didn’t think when I started to write it that it would get as big as the story has decided to get. Anyway, on with our story!

Stiles lay in the dark tossing and turning. He’d hoped in the aftermath of Gerard’s capture he’d be able to sleep, but sleep continued to elude him. He’d booked his ticket to New York for Thursday afternoon, and let Talia know he had seen Chris Argent and planned to give him a strong warning before he left, so that was his next priority. Peter was due back by noon and was going to be his back up in case things went wrong. 

He knew he had hit the Argents hard since the fire and half expected retaliation of some sort from the hunters eventually. Revealing himself to Victoria has been a hard decision, but he hoped going on the offensive and following up now would make them cautious. An unknown player on the board, clearly aware of their actions and willing to break the gentleman’s agreement between the hunter clans and supernaturals to not include the civilian authorities would give them pause he thought. 

He couldn’t quite figure out what place Talia had planned for his future. She allowed him an autonomy that was rare in packs he knew. For all of her assurances that there was a place for him, so far she’d advise him, and brainstorm with him if he asked her, but there was no expectation that he’d involve her. The closest he could come was she was treating him like an emissary, or a close ally, but she made space for him in her home, and treated him like a friend, or even family on a more personal level. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe he’d just spent so much time around packs and wolves where he’d been the one that needed to adapt to their idiosyncrasies, that encountering a wolf who knew how to accommodate humans was weirding him out. 

Plus he was anxious about seeing Noshiko, especially in light of his conversation with Satomi. He’d never exactly trusted her, knowing her kitsune nature, but he’d expected to be safe around her, and now he wasn’t so sure. But he needed answers, and knew she was a good place to at least start looking. 

He sighed, realizing that once again sleep wasn’t coming, and finally slipped out of bed and threw on clothes and shoes and slipped out of his room and down the stairs. He found Robert in the kitchen reading. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asked the man.

“I slept for a while this afternoon. I keep odd hours. With everything going on, and the wards still not replaced yet it’s better someone be awake and keeping watch.” 

“I’ve got a proximity net around the house. It can’t defend against anything and it’s pretty fragile, but it will at least give us a heads up if someone crosses it.” 

“Talia told me. But I’ve heard that some creatures can cross them without a ripple.” 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. Most of the greater fae. Kitsune. Dreamwalkers. There are probably others.” 

“You’re not worried about them?” Robert asked. 

He shrugged. “Other than a couple of chaneque one night when we were in the preserve we never encountered any of the fae, so I’ve never worried about them, and if a dreamwalker or kitsune decide to show up to cause problems we’ve got bigger worries than I can deal with alone.” 

“Chaneque? The little people you mean?” Robert asked. 

“Is that what wolves call them? Just little people? I was going off what I could find in the Argent bestiary. They sounded like gnomes or maybe brownies, well no, not brownies. Chaneque is apparently a commonly used borrowed word. Every tribe had their own word for them, but the Aztec word is the one that got generalized, probably because the first European surveys of the supernatural started there.” 

“Yeah those are the ones I mean. There’s some regional differences but they’re found anywhere there's sufficient forest for them.” He took a drink of what looked to be tea. “You seem to know a lot about supernaturals.” 

“I’ve got a really good memory, and I’ve read most everything I could get my hands on while we were dealing with all that crap.” 

“But you’re not worried about the fae?” Robert asked. 

Stiles laughed humorlessly. “Honestly I’m worried about everything. I’m worried about Argents, I’m worried about every monster we dealt with.” He shivered. “I know something will come, this is Beacon Hills, something is always coming. What I really worry about is it being something I’m not ready for.” 

“You’re not in this alone you know,” Robert said. “You have as much help as you ask for.”

“I know. The Argents need a show of force though. I need to make the risk higher than the reward to them. They go where they see weakness. Wolves have always been easy prey because the packs don’t really work together.” 

Robert took another drink and then said, “You plan to change that.” It was a statement and not a question, and for a moment reminded him so strongly of his Derek that his heart hurt.

Stiles just grinned. “Not oversight exactly. But something to stand against the Hunters’ Council.” 

“It’s been tried before.” 

“At least six times,” Stiles said with a nod. “But it’s never been the right alpha trying.”

“You think Talia is the right alpha?” 

He took a heavy breath. “I think her pack is better suited for it than those who have tried before,” he said finally. “She’s well thought of, her opinion sought out and respected, but she’s honest about her prejudices, and gives advice without making demands. Most important, her pack is small but strong. She’s not an empire builder like Lugh down south, but she has the right connections and the right respect.” 

“You’ve thought about this a lot.” 

“I think about a lot of things. This is more long term. I wasn’t planning to even bring it up for a year or so.” 

“But you did tonight.” 

“You asked,” Stiles shrugged. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret, not really. It’s just not a high priority yet. Take care of the immediate threats, then start preventing the next ones.” 

Robert looked at him, his look hard to read.

“What?” 

“I feel like I just saw behind the wizard's throne.” 

“Me?” 

Robert nodded and was silent, though Stiles could see he was putting his words together so he waited, a lesson he’d learned from Derek. “You see big,” he finally said after a long pause. “You think about how to move the board in your favor, not the pieces.” 

“I just want everyone safe.” 

“And you’ll change the world to do it.” 

“Sometimes the world is fucked up,” Stiles said. “Sometimes you need to change it. It’s why I hate the druids and their stupid balance bullshit.”

“I’m not criticizing,” Robert replied with a smile. “I’ve just been trying to figure out what kind of person you are. Who would do everything you have so far and still keep going.” 

“I don’t think there’s another choice,” Stiles said, confused, “we’re not safe yet. I need to keep ahead of it all.” 

“You need to go to sleep,” Robert said. “C’mon.” He chivvied Stiles back up to his room and waited while he crawled in bed, then carefully took his forearm.

“I’m not in pain,” Stiles said, as he felt the beginning of the pain pull.

“If you know what you’re doing you can pull more than pain,” Robert said, and Stiles felt his body relax and start to feel heavier. 

“Well this is a new trick,” he said as he felt exhaustion take over, and was asleep before he could hear Robert’s response.

Tuesday:

Stiles took a deep breath as he walked into the Beacon Hills Grand Hotel, sipping on his Starbucks. He felt amazing after the ten hours of sleep he’d gotten after Robert had done whatever he’d done, and he had a thousand questions for the next time he ran into the man. Peter had just laughed when he’d called and asked him about it, and said that he’d need to talk to Robert about that, but then their conversation segued into making a plan to meet immediately after he threatened the Argents the next day, and to ensure he had backup nearby if he needed it.

The advantage to having a head full of the nogitsune’s memories was that he was going to use the nogitsune’s own trick for influencing minds to find out the Argent’s rooms, and while it made him feel a little ill, it didn’t feel the same as opening the door to the thing again. It would be just a little push, nothing like what the monster had done. It did make him wonder again what he was becoming. 

He walked in through the front entrance, went to the check in and asked for his grandmother and uncle, Chris and Genevieve Argent, hoping they’d used their own names. 

When the desk guy hesitated, Stiles pushed in a certain way that his memories recalled, it wasn’t quite like leaning into his spark, it was something different, like a limb he didn’t know he had until he used it, or a shadow of something pressed towards the man. After a moment the man relaxed and said, “Of course. You want rooms 418 and 420, adjoining rooms with a door. Mr Argent is registered in room 418.” 

“Thank you Evan, I’m really looking forward to surprising them,” Stiles said with a grin.

“You’re so welcome!” Evan said. 

Minutes later Stiles was outside room 418, and he closed his eyes and tried to visualize the security lock on the door. He was surprised to find it wasn’t in place, and he wondered if Chris was even in his room or if he’d gone out and come back. He took a breath and then used his spark to overwhelm the cardlock, a trick he’d learned after high school sadly, or he suspected he’d have gotten into far more places he wasn’t supposed to be. It would have made getting in and out of Eichen much easier though.

The door popped open with a slight sound, and Stiles pushed it open. 

Chris has his back to him and was clearly focused on going through the mass of papers on the desk. 

“Honestly, I’m surprised it’s this easy to sneak up on you hunters this way,” Stiles said, and was delighted when Chris pulled his gun and snapped around in one smooth motion. 

“You can put that away,” Stiles said, but using a quick flick of his spark to jam the firing pin just in case. It was no specific spell, just that hint of spark and an understanding born of the intimate knowledge of how a gun worked learned first from a childhood watching his father and that desperate year that they’d hunted Monroe. 

“How’d you get in here?” Chris said, as Stiles absorbed how much younger this Chris looked. It made him wonder what had happened to age him so much in just the six years until he’d met him in his timeline.

“These electronic locks aren’t very secure, you should always make sure you have your safety lock secured.” Stiles tapped on the unsecured lock as he stood by the door before stepping forward. 

“Or maybe I was anticipating your visit,” Chris said in a flat voice that sounded neither friendly nor unfriendly exactly. It was an impressive tool and Stiles wished he could figure out how to manage it, but he knew he always had more emotion in his voice than Chris ever did. He slid his gun back into its holster and Stiles wondered idly if he’d notice the jammed firing pin before he needed it the next time.

“Oh, well that’s nice. You should have sent me a note and we could have met for coffee or something. I’m Stuart,” he said, realizing Chris might not actually know who he is.

“We know who and what you are already,” Chris said in a harsh voice.

Stiles stepped into the room. “Well that’s suddenly rude. You were at least trying to be friendly before.” 

“You seem to be responsible for my wife and father being in jail, as well as several of my friends. I’m sure you can understand my lack of excitement to meet you.” 

“Well Chris, I must say I’m disappointed. I thought for sure, that you’d agree it was their own actions that put them there. I know how important holding others responsible for their actions is to you hunters. How’s the search for Kate going by the way?” 

Chris gave him a murderous look. “We’re still looking,” he spat out.

“I’m sure she’s right where she should be,” Stiles said and really enjoyed a moment’s thought of Kate Argent frying in hell.

“Is that what you came to ask?” 

“Oh no. My interest in the search for psycho Katie is almost unrelated. I came to talk, well, to be honest, more threats and a warning, but I’m open to talking too.”

“I know what you are. I’m not interested in listening to a monster twist words into lies.” 

“Rude. And here I thought your mother had raised you better, god knows your father didn’t,” Stiles said with a sigh, wandering into the room and sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Ooh, that’s nice.” He bounced a bit. “I should get a room here sometime just to bounce on the bed. I love this.” He turned back to Chris, “And to clarify, no, you don’t know what I am, you only know what I told Victoria I was, and I promise, I’m smart enough to lie to a psychopath when I need to.” 

“You seem pretty intent on calling all my family psychos.” 

“Well, you are from a family of hereditary serial killers, which is such a fucking legacy to be proud of by the way, so yeah, definitely more psychos than the average suburban type.” 

“We have a code.” 

“Ah there it is. The so-called code that’s what you think separates you from the monsters. It’s funny, but so far in my life, while I’ve seen a surprising number of monsters, the majority of them wore the name ‘Argent’.” 

“Then they didn’t follow the Code,” Chris said. 

Stiles snorted. “That’s always the answer with you hunters. ‘They didn’t follow the code’, well, their victims are just as dead. I mean at least you’re honest about what you are by the name you take. I mean, ‘Hunters’ is so revealing. You don’t call yourself protectors or guardians. You picked another word for murderer while using a made up code as a mockery of justification for being bloody handed killers.” 

“I’m not sure what you think you know-“ Chris started. 

“There’s no ‘think’ involved with this. I know your own family’s past actions enough to know how you work. Shoot first, justify later right? There’s a werewolf in the area you’re hunting, so it must be guilty, or can be shot and tortured for information. If it happens to die in your hands, well, a few broken eggs, am I right? So here’s this for an idea: for every victim of one of these supposed ‘rogue’ hunters, I take out a member of their family. For every wolf shot sub-lethally, I’ll shoot one of yours, sublethally of course. What is it you call it when you kill the wrong wolf, collateral damage? Maybe it’s time the collateral damage falls on your families and we’ll see how acceptable it is to you then.”

“Is that a threat?” 

“Is there a reason you’re threatened by it?” Stiles asked. “A reason you think it might be a threat? Feeling secure in your so-called code now?”

Chris was silent for a moment. “You’re just a kid.” 

“And yet where is your psycho sister exactly? You’ve got to be wondering if I know something about that. You’ve got to have noticed in less than a week she’s gone missing and your monster of a father and fanatic of a wife are locked up and headed for prison. Pretty impressive for a kid, right? They’ve been killing innocent people for years and you Argents have done nothing about it, and in one week I’ve taken down the dregs of the most famous hunter family around. So while I may be just a kid, apparently I’m a really really competent one,” Stiles shot back heatedly. 

“I certainly think that I’ve heard enough,” a new voice said in a sharp commanding tone with the slight lilt of a childhood accent. Stiles grinned with a manic delight and turned to the connecting door that had opened to let the spry but very old lady he’d seen the day before in. He wasn’t fooled though, even at 85 she was the real danger.

“Well hello, Genevieve Argent,” he said, recognizing her from photos in the Argent house. “The great lady herself. The esteemed Argent Matriarch, I’m not sure if I should be honored or disgusted to be in your presence.” 

“You have the advantage on me,” she said. The faint accent of her native tongue added a musical lilt to her voice that was infinitely charming. 

“And you have no idea how happy that makes me,” Stiles replied. 

Chris growled, “Show her some respect!” As he stepped closer, Stiles stepped back out of his reach. 

“Enough Christopher,” she said, iron in her voice. “Please have a seat, Mr Twombly.” 

“See, you do know who I am!” Stiles replied.

“I know your name. But no hunter clan seems to know anything about you. And yet, you seem curiously well informed about us.” 

“‘Curiously well informed’ is an extremely apt description actually,” Stiles said with a nod, and ignored the chair she’d indicated to sit back onto the bed, bouncing again. “Curiosity is actually how this all started for me.” 

“Are you planning to villain monologue us now?” Chris asked.

Stiles laughed. “Your wife, sister, and father conspire to set a house full of innocent people on fire and you think I’m the villain here?” Stiles said. “Chris, I might need to reassess how stupid I think you actually are.” 

Chris’s eyes took on a dangerous glint and Stiles turned to Genevieve, “I knew he’d show up. You, however, I didn’t expect to be here.” 

“My son, nephew, and granddaughter in law are in jail and you didn’t think I’d come?” 

“A nephew too? God, how many murderous shitstains are you related to Chris, seriously? Do you not hear alarm bells?” 

“They’re family,” Genevieve said coldly.

“Yes, that’s always been your excuse hasn’t it? Your son gets his brother killed in an unsanctioned hunt, ‘He’s still family.’ Kate is arrested for suspicion of murder and then strangely freed when evidence goes missing overnight? But she’s family. Oliver Argent kills a woman and her two kids, not realizing it was caught on security camera, then he disappears and his previously unknown brother Kevin suddenly appears and hey, it’s okay he’s family.” 

Stiles gave her a level look. “And I’m very very confident that I’ve missed some. Even Chris ‘we have a code’ isn’t opposed to indiscriminately shooting unknown wolves full of arrows while he’s on a hunt, whether he knows what wolf he’s hunting or not. But don’t worry, he follows the ‘Code.’” Stiles snorted. “You’re just a family of thrill seeking murderers who found a more dangerous game than cougars and bears.” 

“You know nothing of my family!” the old woman said icily, leaning forward in her seat. 

“That’s not true. I clearly know a great deal about your family,” Stiles said, staring her down. “And I’m not even slightly scared of you, so that should give you something to think about.”

“And if we decide you’re a danger and need to be put down?” she asked. “You’re here alone, none of your wolves around, and I’ve got hunters surrounding the building.” 

“I see that so-called code vanished quickly,” Stiles said derisively. “But more importantly, can you put me down? This brings us back to Chris’s first question, what am I?” He paused looking at her, then slowly pulled a small vial out of his shirt pocket and held it up. Then he crushed it against the table. The ash spun up off the table, “As you can see, I’m not actually a supernatural, or I couldn’t control the ash. Not even a nogitsune can do that.” He thanked god that Deaton was just as much of a showboater as Stiles was at times for his next trick, because it’s an incredibly complex bit of spell work that he was about to invoke.

“But am I just some spark, or am I something far more dangerous?” He used his spark and activated the charm in the silver lid of the glass vial and the glass of the vial flowed back together and reformed. He held up the vial until the ash flowed back in. Then he put the lid back on. 

“The thing about hunting is that it’s a dangerous game if you go after the wrong prey,” he said, slipping it into place. “After all, if you go armed for deer, and jump a bear, you might be at a disadvantage. As Marie-Jeanne found, the right weapon is important, and what weapon will work on me? More importantly, what will I do to you all if you guess wrong?” 

“You’re a teenage boy with an inflated ego and a little bit of knowledge,” she said, uncowed, and he was impressed her eyes didn’t even glance back to the vial.

“Perhaps. But you have to wonder how I know as much as I know. How did I know where Gerard would be? How was I able to break the trap of that third rate darach he’d bought so I could rescue the Hales? And what happened to both the darach and Kate in the very few minutes between when the attack began and the police arrived?” He smiled again. “And was I involved?” 

“So what do you think I am, oh Genevieve, with that calculating mind and 80 years of experience, to fit all of this? And when you draw a blank, I want you to wonder what else I can do, what else will I do, to keep my friends safe.” Stiles knew his best weapon was his knowledge, and the potential that he was far more than he was. He’d planned for this exact scene and was thrilled it had worked out.

“What did you come here for?” Chris asked finally, the matriarch still staring him down with her icy stare.

Stiles leaned back on his hands a bit, trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel. “To tell you to leave town. To tell you to get out and don’t come back. You or any of your hunter friends. That county line is the new border. If you cross it, I’ll be coming for you.” 

“We can’t give the monsters free reign,” Genevieve said. 

Stiles sighed. “The problem with you hunters is that your solution for every problem is a bullet. Or perhaps a crossbow bolt. Or in your granddaughter’s opinion, the solution is to fuck children and set their families on fire. Such a gem that Kate is! Let me share a secret with Chris, which I know the matriarch knows. Every year for the last fifty there are more and more rogue wolves and killer wendigos. But the actual number of both species is actually shrinking. What changed?” He was silent for a moment but neither hunter replied.

He looked from Genevieve to Chris, whose face was clearly confused, “And of course Chris doesn’t know, because you keep the good little canon fodder ignorant. Let me help you with this Chris. Say Gerard and Kate had been successful here, and say a couple or maybe three of the wolves survived. But now they’re angry and bitter, barely tethered by pack. And maybe whoever inherited the alpha spark is untrained, or perhaps just poorly trained. Or maybe one of them flees and goes omega as well. What happens then?” He glanced back to Genevieve’s closed off face.

“Oh yeah, granny knows this answer already. So that new alpha bites a beta or two, because an alpha needs a pack or they go strange and more dangerous, and all wolves know this. But biting betas, well, it’s chancey isn’t it? So one of the new bites dies from rejection. Well, you have to hunt the ‘dangerous alpha’ down now. And that omega? Well everyone knows omegas go feral and eventually dangerous. So you have to put him down too, for his own good after all.” Stiles leaned forward. “So even the innocent survivors of the massacre die, and the heads of the families have cleared another area of supposedly ‘dangerous’ wolves.” 

“We would never do that,” Chris said, looking back and forth from the old lady to Stiles. “That’s not what the code is for.” 

“That’s exactly what your so-called Code is for,” Stiles said. “And it’s why the number of hunters grows while the number of werewolves shrinks.” 

“It’s a tragedy that destabilized packs tend to destabilize further,” Genevieve said, “but your implication that it’s on purpose is unacceptable.” 

“Oh Genevieve, it’s cute that you think I believe you. But all we have to do is look at the effects of hunters. Before the Argents were, how shall I say it, strongly encouraged to leave Massachusetts, there were five to seven rogue attacks a year. After you were driven out, there wasn’t another for almost a decade, and that was an omega who originally came from Ohio, and whose pack was destroyed by the Calhouns. California had averaged one rogue wolf a decade for the forty years before the Argents relocated in the seventies, and within five years it was over fifty attacks a year.” 

“Is that true?” Chris said, looking at his grandmother. 

“Those numbers don’t reflect an accurate picture of the dangers of werewolves.” 

“Those numbers are from the Argent family records,” Stiles replied. “I’m not sure how much more accurate they could be. So yeah, there are monsters, but it’s not the werewolves that are the problem and it’s rarely the wendigos, even if eating corpses is really kind of gross.”

Chris’s face had taken a hard edge as he glanced from his grandmother to Stiles. The old woman was watching him carefully, when he didn’t say anything she turned back to Stiles and said, “So your solution is to remove the hunters altogether and just hope nothing goes wrong? To leave people unprotected if one of the packs destabilizes? Or if one of these alphas goes rogue?” 

“Well, removing the Argents certainly. By force if necessary. You’ve shown for decades that you’ve grown corrupt in your purpose and become the problem instead of a solution. The Calaveras aren’t much better, but the Van Dres in Oregon seem to hold to a better Code, and the skinwalkers are always available if the problem is beyond the capability of the packs.” 

“You’d set the Fox to watch the henhouse?” she said, her eyes coldly furious at his challenge and the family secrets he knew.

“If you don’t leave this county, I will follow your own code, and hunt those who hunt us, hunter,” he said, letting the feral smile he knew seemed creepy to others come up. He wondered in that moment how much of this was pure showmanship, and how much was who he really was becoming. Because the thing was, he meant this, he would kill every Argent including Allison if it meant keeping the Hales and his family safe. 

Standing up, he didn’t miss Chris’ instinctive move towards his gun. “Well, it’s been fun, but I have a lunch appointment with my back up so he doesn’t call the cops and tell them I disappeared after coming to meet you.” He paused at the door and looked back at Chris, “And dude, use that security lock, it’s there for your protection.” Then he slipped back out and into the hall. 

  
  
  
  
  


He strolled into the coffee shop and took a seat. He knew from his text messages that Peter was ambling slowly towards the hotel, and Robert had joined him, keeping an eye out for hunters following him out of the hotel. He ordered quickly at the counter, watching for anyone coming in behind him, or loitering in the area.

Knowing the Argents would respond, probably with just a tail following him to try to decide what exactly he was, it was an almost perfect time to disappear, though he had a few more errands to run first. 

Stiles took his drink and sat down, sitting so he could keep an eye on the door, and then used one of the witches tricks and dimmed himself slightly. It wouldn’t hide him from someone who knew what to look for, but it made him easy to overlook, and made his actions uninteresting to casual passers by.

Peter strolled in before he’d been waiting long and stopped to order a drink before sitting across from Stiles. “There’s three out there. Robert’s trying to get good photos for you,” he said as he sipped his drink.

“No Chris?” 

“No, they’re probably trying to keep him out of sight since you’d recognize him.” 

“True.” Stiles smirked. “It went better than I hoped. I made a few threats, tipped my hand about what I know, and now we wait.” 

“Do you think Chris will change his mind in this time too?” 

“I’m not sure. But I think he’s going to be thinking about his actions. Once he had access to the archives is when he really started to change. But I know Victoria was working closely with Genevieve for years before the old lady’s death, so she was definitely in the know. It’s why she was married off to Chris in the first place, it brought two arms of the family back together.” 

“So you feel better about how it went?” Peter asked.

“I really do. I never got to really yell at Chris the last time. Well, once when I told him his sister was a psychotic mass murderer, but after I realized the scope of it all, peace was just more important. So yeah, there was some real catharsis there.” He smirked again, “And really, telling an old lady’s secrets like that,” he laughed a little. “Just wait until she sees how I outflank her when it comes to the council.” 

Peter grinned at him. “Knowing her likely moves ahead of her, knowing her enemies and allies. It’s a good way to wage a war.” 

“She’s cautious more than anything, and patient. She’ll wait until she knows she has me where she perceives weakness.” 

“So what’s next on your list?” 

“I’m going to meet with another emissary, Deaton’s sister. I need the right materials for the wards, and she works with my preferred supplier from my timeline. They only take new clients by referral. So I need her.” 

“Are you going to tell her who you really are?” 

“God no. She’s the emissary to Deucalion. And while I trust her to preserve her idea of the balance, Deucalion’s desires for unique and powerful things means I don’t want to get on his radar before I need to be.” 

“Good idea.” 

“Plus I need to actually read the ley lines around the house so I can set the wards correctly. Thank god Deaton had a map of them so I can work out the optimal configuration, and take the readings. If Morrell comes through I can order the right crystal matrixes Thursday morning before I leave, and Deaton should have them in time to get them tuned and built before the dark of the moon.” 

“I brought back a couple of books for you. Well, copies of journals really,” Peter said. “I’ll drop them off at the house this evening.” He took another drink. “The emissary of the Parker pack in San Francisco had them and made copies. They’re the accounts of another time walker. One is autobiographical like you, the other is from an alpha that encountered her.” 

“Really?” Stiles was surprised. “I expected I’d have to talk to someone on the Druid council or else maybe the Maccon pack in London to get anything.” 

“I got lucky.” Peter paused, “The emissary isn’t a Druid, she’s a vodouisant.” He paused again before he continued, “And she came to me. Her loa sent her.”

Stiles knew only the basics of Vodun and the loa, so he kept quiet while Peter spoke.

“She said the loa have been almost silent since last week, that something changed, and they were focused elsewhere.” He gave Stiles a significant look, “and then yesterday one of the loa came to her unasked for, and told her to find me out and give me the journals.” 

Stiles froze. “Did she say which loa?” he asked, knowing that the loa have a wide variety of personalities, and that it might be foolish to owe a favor to the wrong one.

“She just said the lord of the crossroads,” Peter said.

Stiles pursed his lips. “I don’t know the loa well enough to know if that’s good or bad.” 

“I don’t either,” Peter admitted. “She told me he’d just told her to give me the journals and to pass on a warning that knowledge can be used to help or manipulate, to proceed with caution. She didn’t know your name, she just told me to pass it on.”

Stiles sat back in his seat. “That sounds a little ominous.” 

“I agree,” Peter said. “I’m going to need to tell Talia about this,” he added.

“Of course,” Stiles said. “I don’t want you to keep secrets from her.” He bit his lip and caught himself tapping his foot against the table leg. “I guess that answers my question as to if anything could tell time had been rewritten.” 

“If the loa are interested in you-“ Peter let the rest hang.

“It might just be about the time travel thing,” Stiles said. 

“Or you’ve caught a very different kind of attention, and it might be connected to your new abilities,” Peter said. 

“Well fuck,” Stiles said with a groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That conversation with Peter at the end was originally intended to happen a little later with Morrell. Originally the conversation with Peter was going to be about Morrell, But then I realized there was a different path and took it, and I like it so much better.  
Thank you for taking the time to read this, and let me know where you think I’m going in the comments, I love hearing readers thoughts and ideas.


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles pulled into the parking lot of Devenford Prep and sighed. Of all his actions since coming back, this was the one he was least sure of. For all that he had never really understood Deaton, Morrell was even more of a mystery he just didn’t get. She had helped during the nogitsune, and honestly even before, having covertly sent Braeden to help the betas escape from the alpha pack, but she was also the emissary for the monster that was Deucalion and he just couldn’t make the pieces of her fit together.

So he’d scheduled an appointment with her during her usual work day, which had turned out to be at Devenford. 

He slid out of the Jeep and closed the door, trying to sort out and organize in his head all the things he wanted to talk to her about, and also trying to decide what to do about the Argents. He was relieved that Gerard was finally off the street, but trying to figure out which way to deal with the rest of the Argents was exhausting, because he knew his threats to the matriarch were, at best, a temporary measure. Maybe without having to worry about Scott’s feelings in this timeline, killing them all was a viable solution. Maybe not Allison, she was only eleven after all. 

He checked in with the front office and was directed to Morrell’s office, before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door. 

“Come in,” he heard her familiar voice call out. 

He opened the door and stepped inside. The buzz of latent mountain ash and wards filled his mind and he glanced around trying to identify them. The paintings on the walls drew his eyes and he smiled slightly, that was actually a clever way to disguise them. Subtle and easy to disable if needed, fragile, but only from inside the room. He didn’t remember them from her office at BHHS and he wondered why she’d stopped using them.

“You must be Stuart,” she said, looking at him closely as she stood up and held out her hand to him.

“And you’re Deaton’s sister,” he replied, reaching out and shaking her hand. He felt the subtle flicker of her spark as if she was trying to decide what he was. He wondered if she could tell him if she figured it out.

“Please have a seat,” she said, and he did.

“Alan said you had some questions about ley lines and wards,” she said as she sat back down. 

“Yes, but I also wanted to talk to you about Deucalion.” 

She tilted her head up and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t generally discuss pack matters with outsiders.” 

“I’m not asking you to. Not really. I know most of what I need to, I just want advice.” 

“I’ll at least listen to your questions.”

He nodded, that was all he needed really. “From what I gather Deaton is kind of not an expert on magic, but you are, is that right?” 

“Alan is a fine emissary,” she said, and after a moment she added, “but he’s not much of a Druid, no.” 

“That was sort of what I gathered from talking to him.” Stiles took a breath. “You’ve heard about the hunters attack on the Hales?” 

“Not directly, but I read the papers. The names Argent and Hale sort of jump out this last few days.”

“The hunters had a darach with them. Well, maybe not a full darach yet, but she’s an emissary, and she was working with the hunters, and she’s supposed to be an ally of a pack. I don’t even know what you’d call that.”

“There’s nothing about being an emissary that makes working with a hunter a direct conflict, but to attack a pack, that would be.” 

“Do you know Julia Baccari?” he asked. 

“Is that where she’s gone?” Morrell smiled a familiar tight smile and leaned forward with interest. “Kali has been frantic since she went missing.” 

“Well she’s not coming back. But if you could keep that between us, I think I’m going to let Talia deal with Kali on this.” 

“Of course.” 

“When they attacked she broke all the wards.” 

“That seems like a lot of effort, I wonder why not just a few of them?”

“I have no idea. But I’m thinking about replacing them with a permanent Layton configuration.” 

She narrowed her eyes and started to speak and then widened them and paused again, “The ley lines and the convergence.” 

“Exactly. But we need to build the wards from scratch so I’ll need materials that I don’t have a contact for, plus I don’t have an ephemeris for local ley line progression and I was hoping you might have one I could borrow.” 

“Usually these are things you get through your teacher,” she said.

“My teacher was a lot like Deaton, more emissary than Druid, and not even a full spark, and also, very much no longer available.”

“Ah, I see the problem,” she said. “I do have an extra ephemeris. It’s actually a pity that Julia is unavailable. Despite our differences of opinion, she was quite the expert on ley lines and telluric currents, and I know she had an excellent reference library on them.” 

And suddenly, with that last piece of information a whole chain of understanding came clear in his head, making Julia/Jennifer’s motivation totally clear. “That’s why she moved against the Hales,” he said out loud, not really meaning to.

Her eyes sharpened. “The convergence,” she said after a moment as soon as she understood what he was implying.

He nodded. “That was the part that hadn’t made sense,” he slumped in his chair. “Fuck.” 

“Before I loan you an ephemeris, I need to ask what your place in this is.” 

He stilled. He knew better than to lie to her. She wasn’t a werewolf but he knew druids had their own way of detecting falsehood. “I’ll give you an answer, but it’s not a complete one,” he finally said. 

“I can accept that,” she said. “Usually people don’t warn me they intend to deceive me.” 

“It’s not about deception,” he said, “I have people to protect.” 

“Besides the Hales.” 

He nodded, shifting in his seat. “When I was sixteen my best friend was bitten by a rogue alpha. Eventually things went to shit and I decided to do something about the Argents. Saving the Hales was a part of that. Talia knows my full story, knows all the twists that led me here.”

She watched him as he spoke, and he knew she was judging him somehow, but she didn’t give anything away. After he finished she wrote down something on a post-it and said, “This is the phone number for Talizza Edom, in San Francisco. She’s a good source for most anything you might need. I’ll let her know you’re going to be reaching out.” 

“Thank you,” he said, taking the note, very pleased. Talizza was the best source on the west coast, but she worked only with people who were referred to her by a trusted source. “Can I talk to you about nemeta?” 

“I’ll answer what I can. I assume you want to talk about the Beacon Hills Nemeton?”

“Have you visited it before?” He asked. 

She gave him that impassive look again. “Only once, years ago.” 

“Was it-“ he struggled to find the right words.

“Corrupted? Bound?” she asked when it seemed clear he was struggling.

“Yes,” he said, relieved. “Blasphemous was the only thing I could think of.” 

She smiled that small tight smile. “Agreed. It disturbed me and I didn’t think there was much left, even then, that could.”

“I think I know how it was done,” he said, “like the basics. It would take deliberately mis-tuned wardstones I think. But I can’t figure out how you get enough power to set them.” 

“Sacrifices,” Morrell said. “Probably on a dark moon midwinter solstice or as close as you can get for when the telluric currents are weakest.” 

“But why?” 

She was quiet for a long moment. “You must have felt the dark shadow over the power of the tree.” 

“The nogitsune,” he agreed. Because he had felt it. Waiting. Chaos barely held in check. 

She tilted her head. “A nogitsune?” 

He nodded. “It’s bound beneath the tree.” 

Her eyes went wide. “Using the power of the currents to keep it in check.” 

“Yes. But binding the currents away is draining away the power of the tree.” 

“How long until it gets free?” she asked.

“Years. Though I think it might be able to start reaching out to receptive minds sooner than it can be physically freed.” 

“That’s not alarming at all,” she said dryly.

“I’ll figure out how to deal with it before too long. I’ve got a contact with a nine tail kitsune to discuss it.” 

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” she said. “A nogitsune is the kind of danger we can’t ignore.” 

“So much agree,” he said emphatically.

“I have a few books on nemeta,” she said. “Each one is unique, and this one more than most with everything that’s been done to it, but they’re a good general resource.” 

“Thank you,” he said, then took a deep breath. “Next topic. About Deucalion.” 

“I can’t help you locate him,” she said quickly. 

“I don’t want you to. I know the oaths an emissary swears. I just want to talk about him, not to him.” 

She gave him a skeptical look. 

“I don’t really know him, more about him than anything. But I know what Gerard did,” he paused for a moment. “I talked to Deaton about this and he seemed cautiously optimistic that my idea would work.” 

“What would work?” she asked.

“A possible treatment for his eyes,” Stiles said quietly.

She narrowed her own eyes and leaned closer. “Go on.” 

“Before I do, I need to know if you think his paranoia and craziness are just a result of the blindness or if curing him is just going to make him more dangerous?”

She leaned back away from him and looked away, not responding. “I’m not sure,” she said after a moment. “He used to be remarkable. Thoughtful, more prone to discussion than action. He was an alpha that I was proud to serve. But since Argent took out his eyes he’s different.” 

“He’s going feral,” Stiles said bluntly. “It’s just a different form of madness.” 

“Diagnosing a patient you’ve never met Doctor?” she said with a smile.

He laughed. “Fair point. My question still stands, will curing his blindness help him or make him more dangerous?” 

She sat back in her chair and her expression grew thoughtful. “I think it might help,” she said after several long minutes. 

“But you don’t know.” 

“I wish I could say for sure,” she said. 

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t want to make things worse.” 

“A reasonable position,” she replied. 

“What’s your suggestion?” 

“You should talk to him.” 

“That’s tricky since he’s been hiding from everyone for months.” 

“The next time I see him I’ll mention you have something you want to discuss with him.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I make no promises. He only listens to my advice when it agrees with his own opinions.” 

“Sounds like a gem to work with.”

She shrugged. “I’ve found ways to stay busy.” 

“Can I ask you about the other local alphas?” 

“Are you a hunter?” 

“Definitely not. I spent this morning threatening the Argent Matriarch, which was delightful. And there’s a few less of their more psychotic members running around after this week.” 

“So the papers have informed me.” She tilted her head, “I’m curious about why you involved the police?” 

“Because it works. It’s a civil crime. As an added bonus the Hunters Council hates this kind of publicity and might respond.” He shrugged, but then stiffened as a new idea crossed his mind, and he smiled. 

“Something just occurred to you.” 

“Oh yes,” he nodded. “Another way to attack the Argent problem.” 

“Be careful. Genevieve is not known for allowing problems to remain so.” 

“Defanging her is my first priority,” he said with a smirk. “Well, besides all my other first priorities.” 

She laughed. An actual genuine laugh, which was a sound he wasn’t sure he could have imagined let alone ever heard. “I can drop the books off to Alan tonight, if that works for you?” she said, still smiling, and he got a sense that the appointment was over.

“For sure,” he answered, “and thank you. Oh wait!” He grabbed a pen and wrote down his number. “In case Deucalion has questions or something.” 

“I’ll text you Talizza’s information as well,” she said.

He got up and shook her hand. “Thank you,” he said again. 

“It’s been interesting,” she answered and he grinned and slipped back out of her office.

He took Deaton’s map to a copy shop that specialized in blueprints and had several copies made, then rolled the original back up carefully. The map was clearly handwritten and decades old, with notes in several hands in the margins, almost certainly the only copy of it that existed.

He thought of Danny’s laboriously hand made map of just the currents and regretted he’d never get to see this, knowing he’d truly appreciate the amount of work that had to have gone into its creation. 

After he left the print shop, he stopped by the new age bookstore on Pine. He knew anything they had was probably junk, or close to it, but dowsing the ley lines and measuring the power refractions wouldn’t take a particularly high quality quartz point, so they’d probably have what he needed. He was more worried about finding something that could be used to measure the specific frequencies he’d need to tune the wards to.

When he walked in, the scent of incense overwhelmed him, and he wandered among the shelves until a middle aged woman came out of the back and wandered out to check in with him. He was surprised to feel the electric charge when she got close, and he realized she had a weak but active spark herself. 

He saw her study him as she greeted him. He thought maybe she was wondering if he knew what he was, what she was. “What can I help you find?” she asked. 

He decided in a split second to be honest. “I need a clear enough quartz point for dowsing ley lines,” he said boldly, “And something that can be used to measure their frequency.” 

She smiled. “When I felt you step inside I wondered if you knew what you were doing, or if you were just called by your instinct. I’m Sarah.” 

“I’m-“ he hesitated only briefly, “call me Stuart. I’ve been learning from an emissary,” he admitted. 

“Well, that narrows the field,” she said with a smile. “Come in the back, I’ve got a few that are better than the ones out here.” 

“Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t think to grab any of my own tools before I came to town.” 

“I don’t get many serious practitioners. A few witches, some minor sparks. It’s a lot of college students with some books from the library and midlife crisis sufferers looking for meaning, with the occasional high schooler just following their instincts.” She shrugged. “It’s not a bad life. Safer than yours most likely with a power I can feel from twenty feet.”

He doesn’t answer at first, because she’s probably right. A minor talent like hers was probably enough to warn her away from danger, but not enough to attract enemies. “Do you wish you were more?” 

She laughed. “Not for years.” She gave him a sad look. “My best friend in school had a spark like yours. It’s what called us together most likely. The only two active sparks around. Her mother was an emissary, my friend, Rachel, was just starting her first seven years. I was jealous then. When her mother met me she gave me this pitying look, god I was so angry, and said there was no point in training me.” 

“That’s stupid,” he said. “Any spark is worth training if they want it.” 

Sarah shrugged. “I was angry for a while, but Rachel taught me bits and pieces, enough that I could figure out more. We drifted apart in college, then she started her journey years and we lost contact for years. After she settled in with a pack she reached out and we’ve been talking again. It’s nice. But she tells me stories, and it makes me more glad that I’m not like you or her.” 

She pulled a couple of trays down off of a shelf and he shifted his focus to them. He felt all of them buzz slightly in the aura of his spark, and smiled. “You’re right, these are much better.” Better than he’d expected to find honestly. The quartz was clear and even hidden under a thin layer of dust he could tell any of them would work. He’d been half hoping for one cut into a pyramid which would be optimal for measuring frequency, but none were. However one was cut into a ball, and he picked it up and thought for a moment, before he decided he could make it work, and grabbed another one of the raw spears of crystal. “These two I think,” he said. 

“Great,” she said and slid the trays back up on the shelf. 

As he turned to go he felt something else in him, something not his spark, shudder and turn. The strange focus was almost trapped. His breath caught. It felt similar and very different from how he remembered the nogitsune from before. It felt more like his own left hand than something moving his own left hand without his control. But its attention was caught and he stepped across the room to a row of books with a box at the end. The box drew his eyes like a magnet.

He tore his eyes away and looked at Sarah, “May I?” he asked.

She looked at him, troubled, before nodding.

He pulled the box down, his hands noticeably shaking, and pulled the flaps loose. Inside was a bundle of silk, and he drew it back, revealing the broken obsidian knife inside. To his spark it felt like little more than a broken blade. A hint of power to it, but nothing important. But something about the blade captured his attention and it seemed to shine with a strange intention he couldn’t ignore, or understand. Like the nemeton did in his dreams sometimes. Waves of power shone off of it, and some corner of his mind looked at the knife and thought ‘bridge.’ 

He’d seen Noshiko’s tails before, power frozen into volcanic glass, and he recognized what it was. 

“Is this for sale?” 

“Do you know what it is?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” he added. “Do you?” 

“No,” she said. “I can’t detect any power from it at all, but it plays tricks, it hides sometimes. It’ll sit in the box, sometimes for years, but then one day it’ll be gone. I might find it somewhere else in the shop, or sometimes it’ll just re-appear there. Days later.” 

“I doubt that’s all it does,” he muttered.

“Sometimes I hear voices,” she said.

“Probably one voice,” he corrected. “Though it can sound like as many people as it wants.” 

“What is it?” 

“A fox’s tail,” he said. 

“And you want to buy it?” 

“I’ll buy it if you’re selling it,” he answered.

“It was left with me to settle a debt,” she said. “I could tell it was something so I said yes.” 

“Whatever you think is fair,” he said, not even interested in bargaining. He felt the wheels turning, odds were this was the tail Noshiko had used to summon the nogitsune. It had to be useful in sending it back. As a last resort it would be useful in bargaining with Noshiko herself.

“Let’s say a thousand for the crystals and the knife?” she said. 

“Do you take Visa?” he asked.

Stiles was so focused on trying to catch the exact flow of the ley line that he almost missed the sounds of someone getting closer until he heard a slight crunch of boots on dead leaves, and he turned, expecting to see one of the pack, and instead found Chris Argent standing less than twenty feet away in the trees. 

“Argent,” he said, standing up.

“Can we talk?” Chris asked, holding his empty hands up palms out.

“There’s nothing stopping you,” Stiles said, kneeling back to the task at hand. The dusting of iron filings finally caught and shifted along a line confirming the alignment of the line, he smiled and made a note on the map, then measured the diffracted light from the globe to determine the frequency.

The man stepped closer, leaving his hands open where Stiles could keep an eye on them. And Stiles didn’t miss when Chris glanced at the tools on the ground.

“Dowsing ley lines?” he asked. 

Stiles was surprised for a moment, but then remembered this was the man who’d studied enough Druidic lore to recognize what the darach was intending. 

“Measuring them. Confirming locations,” Stiles admitted. 

“I suppose that’s wise if you’re gearing up for war.”

“I’m not the one who started this war Chris,” Stiles said. “But I’m tired of Argents and the rest of the crackpots with guns playing judge and executioner whenever they want.” 

“Why do you say my name like that?” Chris replied, and Stiles realized his mistake.

“Which way is that?” Stiles answered, though he knew.

“Familiar. Like you know me.” 

“I feel like I know most of your family by this point,” Stiles admitted honestly. “Would you prefer Argent, or Hunter?” 

“I’m trying to find a way to compromise with you,” Chris said. “But you’re not making this easy.” 

“I’ve told you the ‘compromise’ Argent,” Stiles said. “Pull out of Beacon County. Never come back. Stop attacking innocent supes and you’ll never see me again.” 

“I’ve been looking into you,” Chris said. “No one has ever heard of you. I’ve called every family I have contact for. Nothing.” 

Stiles smiled. “Well Argent. Congratulations on realizing I’m not an idiot. I’ve only been Stuart since I got to Beacon Hills. If you knew my real name, you might be able to make a lot of guesses as to who I am and perhaps figure out my nature,” It wasn’t true exactly, but it would certainly put his father and his nine year old self in danger.

“I’ve always tried to follow the code,” Chris said, sounding tired. 

“Have you?” Stiles asked. 

“I hear an accusation in your voice,” Chris said. 

“So many of them,” Stiles admitted. 

“Well, let’s hear them.” 

Stiles looked at him. “You came to Beacon Hills a few months back with Gerard and a group of hunters.” 

“Two of my men died on that trip,” Chris said.

“They did. A new beta separated from his alpha panicked when they cornered and shot him in the preserve, and he tore out their throats,” Stiles said. “But the question is, why were you hunting in the Preserve that night in the first place? Why was he shot? There was no attack on anyone. No sign anyone was anything but peaceful.”

“They were non-lethal rounds,” Chris said. “We wanted to find out why those packs were in town.” 

“Non-lethal rounds,” Stiles mused as he called up a thread of his spark. He turned to Chris using that flicker of his spark to excite the nerves in Chris’s left leg to cramp and spasm. And didn’t miss as Chris’s hand reached for the gun in its holster as he stumbled to his knees. 

“And yet here you are, a grown man, much more in control of himself, still reaching for your own weapon instinctively when you encounter a little non-lethal force,” Stiles said softly as he soothed the nerves once again. “I think I’ve made my point.”

Chris glared at him as he struggled back to his feet. “I thought emissaries had a rule against using magic against others.” 

“I’m not an emissary, or a Druid either Chris,” Stiles said. “Because the so-called balance sucks and I’m not interested in maintaining it.” 

“Then what are you interested in?” Chris spat.

Stiles was quiet for a moment, then said, “When I was a kid, my dad,” he paused, “my real dad was a cop, not the nice couple in LA who’ve never even heard of me though no doubt you’re tracking them down.” Stiles was quiet again for a moment. “He told me once that the law was easy but justice was hard. I didn’t understand him, not really. Not at fifteen. Then my best friend was bit by a rogue alpha. His first months were terrible, he was shot by a hunter the second night after he was bit. Non-lethal rounds, but they still hurt. Those first few months were even worse, like total disaster really. We eventually killed the alpha with the help of the alpha’s last surviving family member. They’d both survived a slaughter by a hunter family, only for that guy to have to kill his own uncle. The hunter family was your family by the way. Which is how I first became aware of Kate and Gerard.” 

He paused to gather his thoughts. “I was so angry afterwards, because the alpha? He’d probably been a decent man, as sane as most people, devoted to his family, good as much as anyone ever is. But killing his pack drove him to madness. The beta that killed him? He was forced to kill his last relative. The last person who knew the silly nicknames he’d been called as a child, the last person who remembered his family besides himself. And I started thinking about justice again. Was it justice to remove only the ones who’d directly killed the family? Or were the ones who’d turned a blind eye to their evil and cruelty also at fault? How about the ones who covered for them and supported them? I’ve been thinking about it for years. So that’s what I want, I want Justice.” 

“My father is an honorable man,” Chris said. 

“If that’s your idea of honor, there’s nothing more for us to talk about. Because what crime did the Hales commit that justifies that your sister seduced a teenager for information that she and your father used to set their house on fire?” 

“I’m sure there must have been some false information. Bad intel or something,” Chris said looking angry and stubborn.

“And yet nothing was reported to the matriarch,” Stiles said softly. “This isn’t even the state they’re supposed to be in right now is it? And I don’t understand how you think even supposedly bad intel is an acceptable excuse for rape.” 

“Rape? What rape? And how do you know all of this?” Chris snapped.

“Know thy enemy,” Stiles said with a tight grin. “Isn’t that what your father likes to say? And it’s called statutory rape Chris, plus a seasoning of rape by deception.”

“That’s not-“ Chris paused.

“Not what, ‘real rape’, or ‘the same thing’, or whatever excuse you’re going to use to stay comfortable and avoid confronting your sister’s crimes? I think you’ve lived so long outside the law Chris, that you don’t even think about it any more. You’ve been judge and jury, shrugging off your own failures, shrugging off the mistakes and evils of everyone around you as well.”

“And you think it’s your place to judge me?” Chris snapped. “Some kid who’d rather leave the monsters free to do what they want? You’re too young to realize how dangerous your idealism is, you’re involving yourself in things you don’t understand.”

“It’s really that I think the worst monsters are actually your family,” Stiles replied. “Child murderers and rapists, serial arsonists, and predators. Such a family to be proud of.”

“So you’d judge all of us by the actions of the worst of us?”

“It’s how you treat the werewolves isn’t it?” Stiles said. “Lumping them all in as monsters. Why shouldn’t I treat hunters the same? Does it bother you to be grouped in with the worst of your kind? The worst of your own family? Does the injustice burn inside knowing you’re judged for crimes you didn’t even know about? Welcome to how you’ve treated every pack you’ve ever come in contact with, and you treat the omegas even worse.” 

“I think your actions are going to result in more deaths, and I’d like to keep the bloodshed from getting out of hand,” Chris said, avoiding the questions, but the fury showed in his eyes.

“It’s a little late Chris. There’s so much innocent blood on your family ledger it will never be clean,” Stiles said simply. “But I gave you my ultimatum: get out of the county. And if I hear about Argents killing another innocent person, by intent or accident, I’ll do as I said. And I swear to god, if your family helps those murderers in the jail escape prosecution, I’ll find the murdering scum and burn them alive, and then find out who helped and kill them as well. The way you’ve always done business is over. Get your family in check or I will, and I’m positive you won’t like my results.” 

“You’re declaring war,” Chris said flatly. 

“No Chris, I’m declaring peace. It’s just that you’ve been on the attacking side of the battle for so long you no longer see the lines for what they are.” He turned away from Chris and made another note on his map and set off through the trees towards the next line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s right, two updates in less than a week! Who am I?  
To be fair, parts of this have been written for awhile. I keep introducing things to this story that I know I’ll have to either explain here or explain when I get around to writing timeline A, I should write those down:-)  
One chapter of Stiles and an interlude chapter with some other important viewpoints to go before hiatus. I firmed you an outline over the last few days of the next arc of the story (by now you can guess it’s a lot of New York and then Deucalion) and the local packs.  
Something I should clarify, since all this is from Stiles POV, is that he’s not always right. Dealing with the Argents was easy since he’s been focused on that. But he’s also missing several crucial things that are going to cause problems.  
If you’re picking up that’s he’s missing things with his father and Talia both, yes, yes he is. My cousin who’s been reading along (and disagreeing deeply with one of my endgame plans) mentioned that it feels like everything is going well.  
And it sort of is.  
On the surface.  
Because Stiles is running on adrenaline and anxiety, and because of that he’s not slowing down and thinking things through. 
> 
> On a side note, I don’t hate the Argents exactly. But it’s the thorny problem of who watches the watchmen. Good intentions will get subverted by the overreach of prejudice and power. 
> 
> Please take a moment and leave a comment about what you most want to see Stiles deal with in this timeline.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read notes at the end!

Wednesday:

His eyes snapped open and he took a deep gasping breath as he pushed himself back to consciousness. The memory of the nogitsune in his dreams faded with its words. He drew a shaking hand across his face to wipe away the fear sweat, and shoved away the blanket. His heartbeat slowed back down, and he gradually returned to something like relaxed, or as close as he’d been since his dad’s death. 

Being here, seeing his father but not being able to actually be his son was wearing on him, seeing Chris Argent again and being reminded that all of this began with the Argent’s pathological hate, and the ever present fear of the nogitsune creeping back into his head, were all starting to fray at the corners of his mind. 

Time dragged on, and Stiles eventually watched as the dawn crept almost imperceptibly across the sky in its progression. He spent the time making mental lists, reviewing what was done, and what was still to be done. He’d finished measuring the relative power and frequency of the various ley lines around the house the night before, without running into Chris again. It was strange to treat someone who’d eventually become an ally as an enemy, but he had no doubts that in this time Chris was as much a problem as Victoria, if not more. He knew the Argent history, and knew it was a sickness without a cure.

He could only hope he’d struck the right note with Genevieve and Chris, leaving them with a sense that he was an unknown threat. He’d read thousands of pages of Genevieve’s journals after Allison had died, and she had struck him as both cautious and opportunistically dangerous. He just needed to buy enough time to hold the Argents back, and to give the second half of his plan for them the time to take effect. He hoped he’d pushed just enough without setting them off. 

He’d borrowed a bag from Derek the day before to pack for the trip. He planned to travel light, a spare pair of jeans and a couple of t-shirts, plus socks and underwear. Then remembering he was going to New York, he’d gone to Macy’s and bought a jacket as well. It was only for a few days, and he didn’t want to carry a ton of luggage, but he was a California boy heading to the northeast in early spring. 

He’d also stopped in the book room in the basement and grabbed one of the books on tricksters that had caught his eye. It was densely written but interesting, and he hoped it could keep his attention on the long plane ride. Plus he knew it was a common enough book it could be replaced if something went wrong and it got lost. 

He sighed and finally got out of bed, reluctantly bracing himself to start the day. He took a few minutes to shove his loose notes together into the notepad he’d been using, and slipped them inside the half full bag before making his way to take a shower. He let the hot water beat its way onto him and relax him slightly, as he tried to pull his thoughts together. He was on edge about leaving Beacon Hills with so much undone and up in the air, but finding a solution to the nogitsune had to be a priority. When he was done he dried off and slipped on clean clothes. 

He wandered back into his room, and double checked his packed bag. Then glanced over at the thin box with the broken pieces of kitsune tail inside. He tapped the top of the box and hesitated over whether to pack it, before finally deciding to leave it behind. Some gut instinct told him that this was a time to be cautious until he had more information. 

Finally feeling ready to go, he grabbed his bag and headed down the stairs. Derek and Laura were already in the kitchen, and Laura shoved a plate of breakfast into his hand as soon as he walked in. 

“I can’t believe you’re going to New York without me,” she said with a fake pout, “I want to hear all about it when you get back.”

Talia and Stiles had agreed to keep the suspicion of his repossession a secret for now, so the story they’d floated was simply that he was going to reconnect with an ally from his timeline, which was the sort of half truth that worked best on a werewolves, true, but hiding a lie. 

“Should I find you a tacky T-shirt and bring it back?” he asked. 

“Only if it has glitter or rhinestones,” she answered with a smirk. 

Stiles laughed softly. “What about you Der?” he asked, sliding in next to him at the table. 

“I don’t really need a T-shirt,” Derek replied. 

“Not even if it has rhinestones?” Laura asked. 

Derek shrugged and said, “If I feel the sudden need for rhinestones I’ll just steal one of yours.” 

Stiles relaxed back into his chair, enjoying the soft teasing and comfort the two wolves gave off. He refilled his coffee cup and sat back down after they had said their goodbyes and left for school and let his mind turn over Derek’s actions from the last few days. He was gradually losing the edge of tension that had followed him when Stiles had first arrived. Similar to when de-aged Derek had found out about his family, but the renewed carefree attitude still felt like a mask, and it worried him. 

He felt driven to make sure this Derek never became his Derek, and he’d noticed Derek hiding behind a facade of normalcy, and the way the pack let him hide his grief was puzzling him. Stiles hadn’t ever made a consistent attempt at therapy himself, though he’d seen a grief counselor after his mother’s death, plus his sessions with Morrell both before and after the nogitsune, so he at least recognized that Derek needed help, and had needed help in his own timeline that he’d never gotten. 

He absently sipped at his coffee, as he contemplated if he was going to bring it up with Talia. He felt that he owed it to his Derek to do what he could to help this younger self. 

He was still deep in thought when Talia walked in, already dressed for the office, and he smiled at her. “Back to normal life?” he said quietly.

“As much like normal as a werewolf ever sees,” she said, smiling back, “Ready for your flight?” 

“Yeah, I’m nervous about things here, but I think I hit the right note with the Argents to make them hesitate for a few days at least, and by the time they decide to make a move-“ he hesitated. 

“Your plan should be in motion,” she finished for him. 

“Exactly.” He was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to broach the subject he’d been thinking about.

“Is something on your mind?” she asked. 

“Can we talk about Derek?” 

She gave him a long look and then said, “Of course, I need to grab some files before I leave, join me in the office while I get them together?” 

He nodded and stood up, setting his cup on the counter and following her down the hall.

“You said I’ll always have a place here, but I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think it’s as part of the pack,” he said after closing the door.

“No, I think you’re right, at least for now. Things do change though,” Talia admitted. “There is a place for you here, always. And I haven’t been pushing you to integrate, but you’ve been keeping yourself apart, and I don’t see that changing.”

“I thought as much,” he said, then hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I’ve never been part of a real pack, I guess. Scott’s pack, it was always more a pack of humans with some werewolves, and I didn’t know the difference then. But being here, among the pack, things are different.”

“Born wolves are different.” 

“Yeah, I knew that, but Derek and Peter were never really willing to talk about it, and I didn’t want to push because-“ he gestured at her.

“Because they’d lost their pack.” 

He nodded. “Cora said losing a pack member was like losing a limb. A part of you was just gone.” 

She said simply, “It doesn’t ever really go away.” 

“I think he needs help,” Stiles said after a moment, switching gears. “I think Paige’s death is still staying fresh with him, not healing, because of the memory blocking thing.”

She stilled. “What do you mean?” 

He looked at her blankly. “The nemeton. You know, where she died. I know you took the memory of it, well, blocked it. But that memory didn’t exist in isolation. It was part of the trauma of her death, and that memory is still there. And more importantly, the emotions are still there too, it’s just locked in the subconscious in, like, a feedback loop. He can’t come to terms with something he can’t remember, so the emotions just-“ he paused before he shrugged and said, “linger I guess-” 

“And I know in my time that Peter was fucked up by the blocks in his memory and he was way more sane after they were gone. Messing with memories just causes problems.” 

She gave him a searching look, “You know why I took those memories. Why it was important.”

“I know you think you made the right decision.”

“How much of this is just you trying to fix things that can’t be fixed?” she asked, an unreadable look on her face. “Trying to even a scale that doesn’t exist anymore?” 

He flinched at her words, a close reflection of his own thoughts, “What am I here for if it’s not to fix things?” he snapped back. “Why am I still here? It has to mean something!”

“Who knows why the tree interfered?” She shook her head. “What I do know is that tree is dangerously corrupted which makes the whole convergence dangerous. All that power is twisted and unpredictable, and I need to keep my pack safe from it.” 

“This isn’t about me though, or that tree, if it is even the tree and not the damn nogitsune. But Derek needs to heal! He needs ALL of his memories to heal. There’s no magic solution to this. He deserves better than to fumble into darkness with the gaping mental wounds that he can’t even rightly remember, and so can’t come to terms with. What even did you take? I know it’s not just the location of the tree.” He dropped it like a bomb into the conversation, a half remembered comment from his own Derek. “Was it something from when she was bit? Did you try to take his guilt, his grief, like taking pain?” 

The dark pools of her eyes took a slight eerie glow as she seemed to tense up more. “My son is fine! I made the best choice I could to keep everyone safe and the nemeton needs to be protected!” Her eyes glowed redder. 

“No he isn’t,” Stiles dug in stubbornly. “He rebounded into Kate, because he’s traumatized and being eaten by guilt.”

“There's nothing wrong with him,” she almost growled.

“Great, that fucking tree stump is safe from the last people you need to worry about but their mental traumas can’t be treated because you’d rather root around in their heads and control them instead of treating them like actual people!” 

“They’re _ my _pack, they’re my responsibility,” she said, her face set in stony anger. “What do you know about that responsibility, my god, you’re still a teenager! Everything is so easy for you to judge!”

“And you owe it to them to make the best decisions with them, not lord over them like a two-bit Shakespeare villain manipulating inconvenient memories, trying to pretend that inconvenient things like feelings don’t matter!” 

“Is this what you think of me?” she said, and her face shifted slightly.

He realized he’d lost his temper, let his anger rise up, and he flinched and jerked back, stung by a flash of guilt. “No,” he admitted, lowering his voice. “I don’t judge you for your hardest decisions. Decisions made in dark moments. That kind of judgement is cheap. That was-“ he shook his head, “I didn’t mean that. I don’t want to be that person. But there is no cosmic counterweight, no justice we don’t make ourselves. There is still time to fix this. He can heal, help him,” he pleaded.

“Stop telling me what I have to do!” she spat out, and his own temper flared again.

“A pack is only as strong as its weakest point. You just saw that in action! Kate crawled into his bed because you left him vulnerable!” he shouted, surging back across the desk between them. “All my coming here did was fix a symptom to a problem you caused! Now I’m trying to get you to cure the problem! Why can’t you see that?” 

“ENOUGH!” She roared, the alpha power shining in her eyes, and face shifting further, “I will not have my decisions questioned in my own house, by a teenager who doesn’t-“ she bit off her comment mid sentence, her claws digging into the desk, splintering the wood.

“Fine. It’s your fucking son I’m trying to help _ alpha _,” he said with a twisted emphasis on the last word. “But I’m leaving,” he said turning back to the door, “you’ll do whatever the fuck you want, like the fucking alpha you are, always so damn sure you’re right because god forbid you change your fucking mind. I mean clearly you see everyone and you know everything! It’s obvious you had a complete handle on what your son was doing when a fucking 30 year old Argent hunter crawled into his bed mere months after he had to mercy kill his first girlfriend GREAT JOB! A-plus alpha material clearly!”

He slammed her door behind him, and in the office he heard a furious roar and the building shook slightly with it and the concussive sound of something crashing into the wall. He was seeing red as he grabbed his bag near the front door and took savage satisfaction in slamming the front door behind him as he barreled toward the Jeep. He shoved the bag into the passenger seat and drove out in a cloud of fury.

  
  


—————

By the time he got to Beacon Hills municipal airport, he was already regretting his harsh words. He liked Talia, and more, he already did respect her more than he had anticipated. And he understood that as an alpha she sometimes had to make the best decisions for her pack that were bad decisions for a pack member. 

But this was Derek, and Stiles couldn’t let go of the idea that Derek had paid a terrible price for his mistakes, even if now things were very different, because he had intervened to make them different. He stopped at the coffee shop inside the airport but before security since he had a long time before departure. 

As he sipped he tried to relax. He could fix things with Talia when he got back, he was sure. She had Peter in her pack, so she was likely used to someone getting in her face. But he couldn’t decide how to get her to change her mind about Derek’s memories and getting therapy. Her fixation on the nemeton being the problem instead of the nogitsune trapped beneath was a minor irritant. It was the memory block he needed her to reconsider. 

“Excuse me?” a voice said, derailing his thoughts, and he looked up to find an older woman standing nearby. He hadn’t even noticed her approaching and winced inwardly. 

“Do you mind if I join you for a few minutes?” the woman asked. 

He glanced around at the half empty seating area and shrugged. “Sure,” he answered. 

She set her cup down and gingerly took a seat. “Thank you,” she said. “I hate sitting alone and waiting.” 

He felt a trace of amusement at her comment, “And I seemed like the best choice?” 

She gave him a searching look, then said, “The most interesting choice.” She paused then said, “What I’m about to say, I used to try and hide, because when I tell people, some believe me, and some don’t. But I’m old now, and even the people who don’t believe just say it’s a charming eccentricity.” She paused again, and then said, “All of my life I’ve felt the presence of angels.” 

“It’s not the weirdest idea I’ve heard in my life,” he said, trying to be polite, but inwardly wondering if she was going to pull out The Watchtower on him. 

“I always try to feel for angels when I’m meeting people. It’s a good sign. You can get a sense of who someone is by their angels.” 

He wondered briefly if she had a trace of a spark, but when he reached out with his own she seemed as magically null as most people. 

“Most people it’s one or none, sometimes you find someone with two, rarely three.” She leaned forward, “You have multitudes.” 

He felt a chill as he remembered Peter’s comment about the loa, and the lord of the crossroads. “Multitudes of angels?”

She nodded. “It’s quite remarkable.” 

“What does it mean?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll need them. Maybe you’re particularly holy.” She paused and smiled, “Are you particularly holy?” 

“I’m definitely not anything like holy,” he said with a quick laugh. “But don’t they talk to you or anything?” 

She gave him a level look, “I’m not crazy, they don’t talk to me, I can just feel them standing near.” She took a drink of her coffee. “But I can’t tell you what it means.”

He felt strange for a moment, like his physical rage was washed away, and a curiosity replaced it, not unlike when the nogitsune had shared his mind, but different, softer and more intimate. The suspicion that he was just reading meaning where there was none in the delusions of an old lady, faded. But in its place he was left with the sense of standing on the edge of a precipice and seeing a changed world, infinitely stranger than he could ever imagine.

As the feeling receded he felt it leave behind a calmness he had barely felt in months if not years. And he refocused on her, as she moved to look down at her watch. “Oh look at the time, I need to catch my flight.” 

“Wait, what does it all mean?” he asked.

She smiled, “I told you, I don’t know what it means, but what does it mean to you? Have a safe flight, young man.” 

—————

By the time his plane finally boarded the sense of peace and calm was gone, replaced by the now familiar anxiety and fear. But the memory of the respite lingered in his mind, and he wondered if it was indeed a result of the nogitsune’s attempt to possess him again, which sent him down a rabbit-hole of wondering if it really counted as again since it was only again by his point of view, or if it counted as the first time since he was the only one who’d remember it had happened to him before. He was disappointed to realize that all of the books and comics about time travel didn’t have an answer to ‘if you were possessed by a very evil Japanese demon in your original timeline and it possesses you when you travel into the past, were you possessed once or twice’. 

He had brief fantasies of tracking down Stan Lee and asking him, or possibly Michael Crichton, though he wasn’t sure he remembered what year Crichton had died, but thought he might still be alive. 

Thinking about it took him through departure and the first fifteen minutes of his first flight. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the book on trickster spirits, which had seemed like a good idea until he couldn’t stop thinking about the evil trickster spirit in the back of his own head. 

By the time his flight got to San Francisco to switch planes, his anxiety was climbing, and he kept catching a sense of eyes following him. While he walked through the concourse, it got so strong he ducked into a bathroom to watch and see if anyone followed him, but no one did. By the time he came out, the feeling was gone.

It didn’t stay gone.

When he got to his departure gate, the feeling returned. He sat down against the wall so he could watch his surroundings. The feeling persisted, though he couldn’t catch sight of anyone, and he wondered if his paranoia had branched out into delusions again, or if the monster in his head was playing a new trick.

By the time his plane boarded the sense of eyes watching him was almost overpowering. He kept touching the pocket of his bag where he’d stashed a small container of mountain ash, just for reassurance. Once he made it down the ramp and onto the plane the feeling disappeared.

When he took his seat he was shaking and almost ready to hyperventilate. He barely noticed the man who sat next to him until the guy turned to him and said, “Nervous flyer?” 

“What?” Stiles said, trying to calm himself. 

“You look like you want to jump out of your skin, I thought you might be a nervous flyer.” 

“Oh!” Stiles said, and though he actually wasn’t a nervous flyer he was an annoying flyer because he had a hard time sitting still for that long, and this gave him a good excuse. “Yeah, a bit. Departures mostly,” Stiles said finally.

The guy smiled broadly and said, “No worries, if you need to grab my arm or anything feel free.” 

It was such an unexpectedly thoughtful offer Stiles found himself smiling back. “Thank you, that’s really sweet.” 

The guy smiled again and said, “Are you headed to visit New York or do you live there?” 

“Oh, no, I’m just visiting a friend,” he said. “You?” 

“I live there.” The guy said pleasantly, “I’m Lucas.” He held out his hand, Stiles looked at it wondering if it was a trap.

Stiles took it nervously but the man was purely mundane. “Ummm, Stuart.” 

The guy kept up a stream of comments and questions, and Stiles fumbled through keeping up. It was sort of pleasant, Lucas didn’t seem to want to kill him, or any of his friends. He mentioned that he worked in PR, and Stiles replied that he was a student. The conversation eventually shifted to movies and they talked about Lucas’s excitement for_ Revenge of the Sith _ and his skepticism about _ Batman Begins _ . Though Stiles did not tell him that _ Sith _ didn’t manage to live up to Lucas’s hope that it would redeem the terrible predecessor films, and that _ Batman _was going to be amazing. It was disappointing to discover that being a time traveler even made small talk weird.

In all, it was a strange and weird experience after a week drenched in the worst horror of the supernatural and trying to fix everything to find himself in the utterly bizarre situation of making conversation with a random stranger on a plane. He tried to relax into his seat and ignore the warnings in the back of his mind shouting that danger was just around a corner, as they debated theories about who the ‘Half Blood Prince’ would end up being when the book came out, and he tried to remember what normal was like, if only for the duration of the flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this chapter has been a month of fighting with it. It’s finally done.  
This is the last Stiles chapter for awhile. Chapter 13 will be diving into the heads of some of the people around him, so you can get a sense of some of what he doesn’t see. Then I’ll be on hiatus here for awhile. I won’t say there won’t be any chapters of Shade in that time, because a lot of the next few chapters already exist in partial form (12 was unusual in being a chapter I knew what happened but having only a few notes). But I have a lot of irons in the fire right now, as this is a very big one. The difference between writing a 300k story and a 100k story is far more than the added words in a way that make me respect GRRM more.  
So what’s my agenda? Well, first up I’m going to breeze through the end of It am not Iron Man’, then I have two FTH fics to write. Once those are cleared up, I want to get the ending of ‘Call of the Night’ done, then I’ll be back here and writing another MarvelComics/MCU/Teen Wolf crossover that I’m not quite ready to talk about yet.  
Feel free to hate on me in the comments, or ask questions, or just tell me that I’m far better than GRRM and should get my own HBO series, lol. Seriously I’m glad to see how much people are loving my little runaway 15k story. Thank you for all your kudos and comments.


	13. Chapter 13

Interludes I-

  
She let out a furious roar as she shoved the desk out of her path and it crashed into the wall and bounced back. She took a step before she stopped herself, and reined in the urge to chase him, reaching for the sense of pack that anchored her. Moments later she heard him slam the front door, and then heard the engine of the Jeep roar to life. She took another breath, leaning into her anchor and getting her control back. 

Talia stepped to the window and watched as the Jeep drove away, her fury fading quickly. She’d always been like that, slow to anger, and quick to regain control, unusual for a born werewolf. She was surprised at how easily Stiles has prodded her into such a fury. It didn’t take long for the tiny voice to appear, saying that perhaps Stiles had a point, however badly he’d said it. But the visceral horror of wounds that wouldn’t heal - she shook her head. The human, for all his comfort and familiarity with wolves, apparently didn’t understand the sense of horror wolves felt at the idea of being wounded and not healing. And being blindsided and hammered with the idea, well, she owed him an apology for letting things escalate. He at least had the excuse of being both human and a teenager.

She heard the soft knock on her door and she turned as Robert opened it. “Do you want to talk?” he said.

She wanted Samuel, needed him really. His background gave him insight into humans that, for all of her experience, she just couldn’t match.

“You heard?” she said.

“You shouted. You _ roared _.” He emphasized the word, “I’m sure every wolf and half the rest of the supernaturals in the county heard it.” 

She sighed. “I shouldn’t have.” 

“God forbid Talia Hale have a temper,” he teased. “Alert the pack. Call the alphas.”

“Peter is already worried that he’s not integrating with the pack,” she admitted. “And I doubt that helped.” 

“Anyone with as much anger as he has won’t hold it against you,” Robert said, his amusement showing. “Honestly I think this is a good sign even if neither of you does. He cares enough to get you angry.” 

She thought for a moment and nodded. “Maybe you’re right. Though I hope we can find a different way to talk about things from now on. I’m still shaking.” 

“Adrenaline,” he said, “let me see your arm.” 

She held out her arm and felt the cool feeling of his control immediately, the shaking faded and the urge to chase, to fight, faded as well. “Thanks,” she said, rubbing her arm where he’d touched her. “Someday I’m going to learn how you do that.” 

“It’s just control and practice little sister.” He shrugged. “If you can heal you can do the rest.” 

She pursed her lips slightly and looked at her brother. “I just don’t know how to deal with him.” 

“You’re doing fine. I think-“ he hesitated. “I think you’re a lot alike. I think he probably bossed his alphas around a lot. I mean, you know what Derek’s like, and I can imagine that Stiles’ best friend was someone he could boss around too.” He shook his head, “He can’t do that with you and it’s going to cause friction. You’ll both figure it out.” He pulled the desk back away from the wall, snorting softly when he saw the cracks in the Sheetrock and the gouged desktop. “And it’ll be good for you to have someone besides Peter to yell at.” 

“You don’t think it’ll push him away?” she asked.

“He’s not a beta. And you’re expecting him to integrate like a wolf, and he’s not, so he won’t. He shows his investment in the pack in his way, which is to push and prod and be a little shit at times apparently.” He hesitated, “You should talk to him more though. He wasn’t pack with everyone in the pack he came from either. He’s human, and he packs up like a human does- with his heart.” 

“He’s just so isolated.”

“He’s not really. Not for him. He’s never been someone with a wide circle of friends I don’t think, he cares too deeply for that. He makes friends slowly and deeply.” He was quiet for a long moment but experience told her he wasn’t done. “He is sad and lonely, but that’s to be expected. He lost all of his old friends in a terrible way, and it’ll take him time to find his balance. He’ll find his people, but it won’t be everyone.” 

“It’s easy for you, you’re clearly one of the ones he’s picked.” 

He nodded. “He understands me. I think for many of the same reasons I’m a bad fit in a pack.“

“You’re not an omega,” Talia said flatly. 

“Only because of the force of your will,” he said with a fond smile. “You know you hold me to the pack. I love Leanne and Peter, but we’re not close. There’s you and Laura, and to a lesser extent Sam.” He smiled slightly, “and now apparently Stiles.” 

“So why Stiles?” 

Robert tilted his head and looked out the window for a moment. “We both love the pack as an abstract, but don’t quite connect to everyone. We both haunt the quiet times and quiet places.” He shrugged. “Like minds.” 

She thought for a moment, then asked a question she’d been hesitating over. “Can you see the shadow of the fox in him?” 

He gave her a puzzled look. “What shadow?” 

She bit her lip. No one had said anything but she wasn’t sure, and had wondered if the deeper sensitivity of the alpha eyes was seeing something hidden. 

“He’s afraid he’s being repossessed by the nogitsune that held him once before.” She added, “And I can see its shadow on him. I have since he arrived. I thought at first he was a fox spirit himself, and everything was a trick, but he knew too much and too specifically so I took a chance that whatever he was doing he didn’t mean us harm. But hearing his story, I think he’s right. And I hope this New York Fox can fix him.” 

“This is why you haven’t pulled him closer to the pack,” he said. 

She nodded. “It’s like his power, a black shadow with flashes of blue.” 

“And if the creature does take control?” he asked. 

“He told me what to do, and I’ll do it. For my pack, for everyone. A nogitsune is too dangerous to be let loose in the world.” 

—————

Marin sat down across from him. “I was surprised to get your call,” she said without preamble.

Alan looked at his sister and sighed inside. Everything between them was always difficult. The family failure and the family prodigy. “Hello Marin.” 

“Hello Alan,” she said, her smile clearly fake. “You should call mom, she misses you.” 

He tried to find the patience to deal with her. “She knows my position on things,” he said simply. “And it hasn’t changed.” 

“It’s dangerous Alan.” 

“And it’s not my business,” he said calmly. “Talia made it clear the nemeton was not part of my duties here, and since it cost my predecessor his life, I’m not going to argue with her.” 

“And yet your new protege is quite interested in it,” she said idly. 

“Stuart is not my protege,” Alan replied. “He has no interest or instinct for druidry. And within his abilities he’s likely nearly as learned as I am.” 

“Which isn’t saying much, since you have so little talent or interest in power.” 

“My talent matches my interest,” he replied, setting the menu aside. “The Caesar salad is excellent here. Shall we get some wine?” 

“At lunch? How daring Alan.” 

He sighed audibly. 

“He’s interesting, your not-protege,” she said. “There’s something about him I can’t place. Something familiar.” 

“Stuart is an ally of Alpha Hale. More, even. If not quite pack.” 

“Living with the Hales. Among the wolves,” she mused. “So clearly not looking to take your job. Does he fancy himself a sorcerer, do you think?” 

“I think he’s powerful and driven,” Alan admitted, “And he is struggling to find his own kind of balance. I think-“ he hesitated, “I think his life has been terribly out of anything like balance for a long time and him searching for it may create instability.” 

“And you hate instability,” she replied, tapping her finger on the table. 

“I think with guidance and nurturing he can find what he’s looking for, so it would be worth the effort to help him.” 

“Is that a reference to me?” she asked.

“I don’t think I’ve ever referred to you as nurturing in your life, Marin. I wouldn’t trust you with a houseplant.” He paused, “Though a cactus might suit you.” He looked across at her, “How is Braeden these days?” 

She gave him a harsh look. 

“Are we done playing now, sister?” he asked, as the waiter came to take their orders.

“For now,” she said to him, then looked up at the waiter, “I’ll have the Caesar, and a glass of Grenache Rosé, please.”

“I’ll have the salmon, and water,” Alan said, and it was petty, but he took deep pleasure in the flash of annoyance on her face.

  
  


—————

The glass of scotch sat untouched as he sorted through the pages of evidence in front of him. But the most damning evidence was the memory seared into his brain that he couldn’t stop turning over. 

The background information had been checked out by a colleague in Fullerton off the official record, a favor to repay a favor, including pages out of a yearbook that didn’t match the digital records. 

Noah has always hated the Sherlock Holmes quote about eliminating the impossible. He’d always found that it turned out that there was evidence missed, or possibilities he hadn’t considered. He did like Occam’s Razor, but he didn’t think it was always right either. He preferred to be thorough. He liked more than enough evidence, he liked his answers to not be simple but rather to be right. 

And what do you do when the only possibility was so improbable as to be outlandish? When the simplest solution was something that seemed miraculous or at best, science fiction?

He flipped through the crime scene photos from the Hale Fire, knowing the photo he was looking for was the eleventh one, but searching for anything else that might give him an answer. He wondered what the Hales had to do with everything. If it was even the fire that was important or if it was the Argents that were the key. 

He looked at the fingerprint evidence report from the Hale house again, to the line under elimination prints matched, and the name: 

Stilinski, Mieczyslaw (minor)

He sighed, knowing that there were answers but only in one place, one person. He glanced upwards towards the room where his son was sleeping as if there were answers there, but if he was right, there wouldn’t be. If he was right, if the evidence he couldn’t ignore was right, then he had two sons. Two of the same son, one impossibly ten years older than the one asleep upstairs.

He turned over the memory in his head, two boys, staring intently into the distance, nearly identical looks of concentration, nearly identical half smiled on their faces. Nearly identical, down to the unique pattern of moles that decorated their faces. A pattern so familiar it had been tugging at his attention since the first time he’d seen the teenager.

He took a drink of the scotch and thought about Claudia, and her love of Star Trek, and the episode about the mirror universe he’d made fun of, and which now seemed like a terrifying possibility. He didn’t know how to grapple with the ideas that his own impossible truth made real. And what had his life become that he hoped time travel instead of parallel worlds was the answer? 

  
  


——————

She looked up from the fragile scroll she’d been reading as she waited. The sense of something chaotic and dark slid across senses developed over long centuries of experience. She stilled her mind and reached out toward the disturbance that had brushed over her so casually, horrified to realize it was still miles away, shining in her mind's eye like a beacon radiating without any attempt to disguise itself, a challenge to anyone sensitive to its touch. And she recognized that dark power almost immediately.

A nogitsune had come to her city.

Her eyes widened slightly, recognizing something in it. Something that called to her like family, and she glanced back to the email she’d received earlier in the afternoon. She turned to her husband, “Adelaide was right. It’s here.” 

“A nogitsune?” Ken asked. 

She nodded once, then said, “And strong. Not even bothering to hide itself.” 

“It’s not her is it? I know Satomi passed on that the nemeton in Beacon Hills has been cut down, but can she get free?”

She hesitated, “She _ will _get free eventually. That prison was an imperfect one. Rushed. But this one feels too young, and not nearly angry enough.” Unsure, she thought about it. With kitsune, age was paramount unless their cardinal strength was empowered artificially. It happened, but it was rare, and she trusted her gut. “No. I don’t think so. That one is a master at hiding itself, this-“ she hesitated, ”this feels guileless.” 

“Guileless doesn’t mean safe,” he said pointedly. 

“No,” she agreed, “It doesn’t.” 

“Can you trap it if you need to?” 

She nodded. “I’ve had 60 years to build the perfect trap for a nogitsune,” she said. “I’m more than happy to finally use it.”

———————-

And here we will pause briefly.

This is mostly for people who don’t read my authors notes, because I’ve mentioned most of this before.

I’ve stopped writing on my other stories because Shade has sort of taken over my life creativity speaking, and it’s a big big story. Currently I estimate it’ll run about 50 chapters and around 300k words, which is as long as A Game of Thrones). I’ve got about another 70k of it written in bits and pieces (Theres whole chapters in the 30s that are mostly written. Not much of the 20s though.)

And that’s not even getting into the Timeline A story I will write which will probably be almost as long. So I’m going to be taking a short hiatus to clear the decks so to speak.

Currently here’s what I’m going to be working on during this hiatus: 

  1. I owe two stories for FTH, one a Sterek story with Deputy!Stiles and fluff, and more weddings than you might expect. The second is a Stackson story, which is currently looking like it will be in two parts, the first quite dark (there are 2 major character deaths in the first 6 chapters and at least one more (possibly 2). 
  2. I’m going to finish ‘I Am Not Iron Man’. It’s not a long story and it’s an easy thing to knock out and have DONE.
  3. I’m going to go back and finally finish off ‘Call of the Night’ which got completely derailed for Shade.
  4. And then I’ll be back here until the end. I have another story in the works as well, but that one I’m not talking about until I’m ready for it to start going up, but it is a Marvel/Teen Wolf crossover (because Stiles and Steve are the bro!tp the world needs). 

I suspect you’ll get a chapter every now and then here. Most of the next few chapters are pretty heavily under construction, either in outline or draft form, so as they’re done they’ll go up, so this is less hiatus than it is de-emphasized while I finish other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well well well, so there it is:-)  
Your first sense of what’s going on from some perspectives that aren’t Stiles. Any thoughts?


End file.
